


The Death of a Lady

by Wonderbabe2



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Westeros, Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Violence, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Mild Kink, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 30,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonderbabe2/pseuds/Wonderbabe2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor Clegane and Arya Stark on the road again.  People fight, die, run away and things get dirty - that's the most I can say... AU (and older Arya).  Bits of sansan, but mostly Arya/Sandor.  Disclaimer: All aforementioned characters in this story are property of GRRM. I do not own any of them<br/>I plan to be posting regularly again.<br/>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fucking Window

"Get up,"

The Hound looked up dozily at the thin, girlish figure looming over him at the side of the bed with her hands on her hips.

"Get up, you've been sleeping for too long and I've been awake for hours listening all night to your fucking. Tell your whore to get out."

He turned to the girl who was still asleep beside him and shook her roughly, "Get up." He said and tugged sharply on her hair before turning his attention back to the little wolf bitch. The whore yelped and sat up, startled and scowling. "The fuck I need to wake up for you?" His pounding head and the taste of his own stale vomit in his mouth reminded him of the night prior. Of course he'd drank too much again. As always. It was a wonder that he'd managed to still end up in his own bed.

"We're going." She stated bluntly. The wolf bitch narrowed her eyes and leaned in over him. "Now."

She tossed a bundle of coins to the disheveled woman who was hurrying to dress herself. A fairly large bundle of coins, considering the lousy fuck she'd been. He remembered that much at least from his night of drinking.

"For your troubles." She said. Sandor twitched at the remark. Even though her face was stoic, he could tell she was mocking him.

Once the woman had slipped out the door the two faced each other once again. Sandor propped himself up on his elbows and glared at the girl in front of him. Oh, how she loved to fuck with him endlessly.

"What in seven hells girl-"

"Get dressed," She threw his clothes from the floor into his face. He tensed. _So bloody close, girl_.

"What the fuck is going on?!" He yelled, raising himself out of bed a little too quickly, and felt a wave of nausea pass over him. He laid back down and swallowed bile. The pup stared at him as she fastened her swordbelt and grimaced. "Maybe if you weren't busy drunk-fucking and puking and swearing and ignoring me every time I tried to tell you we were being watched you would know that we have people here looking for us. Your little whore probably just gave us away, actually. I heard men mention our names last night and now two of them are going around to every room at the inn, knocking on all the doors. We have to leave. Right. Now."

Sandor forced himself from the bed, struggling to keep himself from vomiting as he wordlessly slipped on his trousers and tunic. The she-wolf really wasn't that bad to have around he hated to admit, but she was proving to be quite a sharp and observant little bugger, and not a bad killer at that either. They heard voices outside the door of their room. Arya moved closer to the door and slowly began to draw her sword. The hound grabbed her wrist suddenly and yanked her away. She was an idiot if she thought they were going to make a scene in the middle of a busy inn like that. They were leaving out the fucking window

"We're leaving out the fucking window." He hissed. _Maybe not so sharp then_. "You may think you can take on ten men on your own, girl, but you're still just a scrawny little kid."

She resisted his grip, "I'm 17."

Sandor laughed sharply. He yanked her again, harder, and she stumbled backwards into his chest.

"Like I said, you're a kid. I could break your spine with one hand." He scoffed.

The pup regained her balance and shoved herself off of him, grunting. Shooting him a look of contempt, she pushed her sword back into its sheath. "Fine. The fucking window."

But, before they even reached the window there was a knock at the door followed by the gruff voice of a man. "Oy, open up there!" He called, barely giving the two of them a chance to react before he opened the door himself and stepped into the room with three other men clad in the armour of the kingsmen. Lannister soldiers.

"You said there were only two of them." Mumbled Sandor to the girl as he drew his own sword and pulled her behind him. "Well, fuck it. Screw the fucking window. Stay behind me."

"Take the dog, kill the bitch." Ordered the soldier in charge. Sandor's eyes widened momentarily. Why would they be coming to take him and not the Stark girl?

The men, knowing that they'd found who they'd been looking for, unsheathed their swords and moved to attack. Sandor wore no armour, though he was still quite a large and intimidating opponent without it, and the men hesitated to strike him as they closed in, giving him the opportunity to strike first. He quickly stabbed one of them hard in the belly before he could even lift his sword and tore to the right, spilling his insides from him and slashing the man beside him as well, though not as fatally. The others lunged towards him with their swords at the ready. He ducked under the first man's swing and tripped him with his foot as he blocked the other man's attack. The man who was now spitting blood. The girl hadn't listened to him, of course. She removed her needle from the back of his neck and he fell to the ground, clutching his throat, blood spurting from his gaping mouth onto his hands. Damn, he wanted that one.

"You going to kill him?" She asked, pointing to the man on the ground with the end of her 'needle'. Sandor held him down with his foot on his neck. It was the commander. He struggled to try and reach for his sword again, but the girl kicked it out of the way. She picked it up off the ground and met the tip of it with the corner of his eye, smiling. Sandor shrugged. "It'd be the wise decision." He said. "Are you really going to stab him through the eye?"

"No," She replied, "He doesn't deserve to die like that. I'll take him through the heart."

And then she did.

 

**Hey everyone! I hope you guys like it so far. I don't really know what I'm getting into with this. This will get (somewhat) romantic eventually, I promise :) I am completely open to suggestions/constructive criticism if you want to leave a comment or two. See you soon!**

**-OW**


	2. A Piss in the Woods

Arya could see her own breath in the chilled evening air. She shivered slightly. The sun was finally beginning to set in the west, casting the shadowy cloak of dusk over the land. They'd ridden all through the day and kept as far away from the path as they could while still attempting to follow its general direction. It was necessary to keep from the main road after the incident at the inn, now that they'd made their presence undoubtedly known for miles. There would be people looking for them. Remaining as inconspicuous and unseen as possible wherever they dared to travel was their goal until they reached the Eyrie. The Hound had made it clear to her that he wanted to get her to the Vale as quickly as he was able in order to claim his ransom. He'd mentioned to her the prospect of leaving Westeros entirely in hopes of finding work as a sellsword of sorts in the east. The Lannister men had been a little setback for the pair, forcing them to travel with caution. This clearly bothered the Hound. And even more than that, the fact that it was his own carelessness and lack of foresight that had truly brought them to their position of vulnerability. Arya knew he would never admit that she was right, the stubborn bastard. He would never apologize, but she could tell that he knew just as well. There would be no more sleeping at inns from then on.

The horse in front of her halted. She looked around them and saw that they had arrived in a small clearing near the riverbank. The Hound dismounted swiftly.

"Wait here for a moment. I have to piss." He told her.

Arya watched him take not two strides to the right of them before pulling down his trousers and beginning to urinate. She stared in disbelief.

"What are you doing?" She interrupted him in the midst of his business. The Hound stopped, shook a little, and slipped his trousers back on again. He turned around and looked at her.

"What do you mean 'what am I doing'? I just took a piss. Are you thick?"

"You know you just whipped your cock out right in front of me."

"And?" He questioned to her, his face serious and unmoving. It didn't give him away.

"And, couldn't you have taken just _one_ step further and gone behind that tree or something?" Arya pointed to the considerably large willow tree to his left. The Hound glanced at it for a moment then shrugged.

"What's wrong with this spot here?" He crossed his arms and planted his feet firmly where he stood, as if to claim his territory. "Can't a man take one when and where he wants to?"

He was doing it on purpose.

It wasn't rare for the pair to argue. Arya swore the Hound enjoyed taking the piss out of her almost more than he liked to kill. Though, as much as she tried to bite her tongue, just roll her eyes and ignore him, she could never resist a good squabble. Part of her liked it when he purposefully got under her skin. It gave her something to focus on besides revenge. To focus on beating him. She resisted a smirk.

"I'd rather not get a full view of your arse if I can help it." She said.

"Well then, you're lucky I decided not to take a shit."

"You're filthy."

"Well guess what? I don't give a flying fuck. And neither do you."

"I _do_ when I'm forced to listen to your filthy farts and snores and fucking while we're sharing the same bloody room all night."

The hound laughed aloud sharply. "Aye, then it's a good thing we won't be sharing the same room anymore, little wolfing. We'll be sleeping outside from here out. Speaking of which, get off that damn pony and help me set up camp. We'll stop here for tonight."

Arya begrudgingly obliged and slipped off her horse.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Once the two had set up camp the sun had set entirely, exposing them to the glittering of a million stars in the otherwise black sky. Arya lay down on her bedroll facing the glowing embers of their dying fire. The Hound, who was lying across from her, had his back turned, though he wasn't sleeping. He almost always snored when he slept. Arya quietly spoke the names in ritual as she felt herself begin to drift into dreaming.

"Joffery...Cersei...Ilyn Payne...Meryn Trant...The Mountain...The Hound-"

She was interrupted by his voice.

"When are you going to do it?" He grumbled, turning over to face her. "When are you finally going to stick that little needle of yours through my eye and out the back of my skull like you said you would?"

Arya flinched.

"I don't know. When it's time. When I feel like it."

The Hound let out a deep chuckle.

"What the fuck kind of an answer is that? ' _When I feel like it_.' Just do it or don't do it, girl. But, I'm warning you, when the time does come, and you hesitate even for a moment to kill me I'll break your pretty little neck and call it a day. That's the kind of lesson you learn when you all of the sudden _just don't feel_ like killing a man. Don't make idle threats or false promises to yourself or to anyone else and don't hesitate. Got it?"

He gave her a serious look. Straight into her eyes. She swallowed, nodded.

"Good." The Hound sighed, breaking the tension, and turned back to his original position. "Now please shut the fuck up and let me get some sleep."

 

**Chapter 2 is done! Just a forewarn: updating might be a little bit sporadic (I do have a life outside of this), but I will try to be as consistent with it as I can. I hope you guys liked this chapter. I definitely have a feel for where this is going now, so stay tuned for more action in the near future :)**   
**Thanks for your support,**

**-OW**


	3. Rabbit on a Spit

Ev _erything as far as she could see was on fire. The thick choking smoke filled her lungs with every shallow breath she tried to take. People were screaming, running, laughing, singing. A parade of bannermen marched past in triumph with their flags hoisted in the air, surrounding a great man who sat upon a horse as if he_ _were a god. A man with the head of a direwolf_. _A king in the North indeed._

"Robb! Robb!!"

Arya woke to the sound of her own cries. She clutched her throat as they turned into caughing. She felt sick and retched.

Somehow, the night had given way to morning. The sun, she could see, was just beginning to rise over the mountains in the distance. There was a small fire with a rabbit cooking over it, and though she hadn't eaten in over a day, the smell of its searing meat made her gag. The Hound carefully turned the rabbit he'd caught over the flames. He must have had gone hunting before she woke. Arya noticed him watching her from where he sat on a boulder in front of the fire. His eyes were soft with emotion. There was something other than anger in them for once. Was it pity, sympathy? She tried her best to shut out the remaining glimpses of her dreams from the night. If she was fool enough to let her guard down, who knew what would become of her then?

She sat up, wiping the sweat from her brow, and forced herself to speak.

"You went hunting." She pointed to the animal cooking on the spit. The Hound gave a slight nod and turned his head away from her. The hardness came back to his eyes.

"Rather obvious isn't it? ...you're pale, child." He said. He pulled the rabbit from the fire and set it down on the rock beside him to allow it to cool. The morning birds began to sing. "I heard you in your sleep. You were yelling and squirming around all night long. I could barely sleep myself from all your fussing about."

"It was just a dream" Arya protested. She hadn't realized.

The Hound snorted and shook his head. "You look like a bloody ghost, girl. A dream is one thing and a nightmare another, but a memory...aye, memories are the things that truly haunt us. The things in the past that we can't change. The things we can never unsee. You tell me _that_ was just a dream? You think me a fool?"

She let out a deep sigh of exhaustion and something of relief, hugging her knees up tightly to her chest. It was no use. At least she didn't have to pretend. He'd seen through her poor defenses. They had too much in common-she and the brute.

"I dreamt about my brother." She admitted, "They were marching around with his body with the wolf's head stuck on where his own head wasn't. Just like how I saw at Walder Frey's castle that night. The night they were murdered."

Arya spoke through clenched teeth. She choked back angry sobs and rubbed her teary eyes with the dirty cuff of her sleeve. How dare she let herself cry in front of him. Sadness turned to anger. She reminded herself again how she hated them all. And she would kill them all. Every one. Vengeance was all that mattered now. It was all that should...and yet...

"Do you remember?" Her voice quivered.

"Aye child, I remember."

"It doesn't matter anymore. They'll all be dead someday." Arya took a deep breath to recompose herself. She wouldn't let the Hound see her in such a state for long. The walls had to come back up. She was Arya the wolf bitch, Arya the fighter, not Arya the bloody sobbing maiden. A silence, which seemed to last forever, expanded between the two of them. They both stared into the little fire in a sort of trance. She shifted closer to it for warmth. The night had been a cold one and the morning still held its chill in the air. The Hound took their rabbit and ripped off a sizable chunk before passing it to her. Thankfully, the nausea had finally passed and she now felt in the mood to eat, realizing just how hungry she had been.

"Thanks" She said to him, before taking a bite. The meat was somewhat burnt, but she didn't mind. It was food all the same.

He nodded once more to her before speaking to change the subject. "Not long til the Eyrie. Bout another ten miles that way."

His gaze was towards the mountain range in the distance. It seemed so far away from where they were. "And there I'll leave you with your aunt, collect my reward and be on my merry way to who knows where. You'll be with your family again soon."

Arya looked over to the mountains as she chewed on the hind leg of their rabbit and felt an odd churning in her gut. She didn't want to go to the Eyrie. There was nothing there for her but more walls. Living in the Eryie would be no better than living in a prison. She wanted to tell him, but he probably knew that already. He knew and he didn't care. As long as he got his silver out of it. And he was acting as though he was doing _her_ the favour.

"Hmph, my family!" She grumbled, "I've never met the woman once in my life! They'll make me act like a lady you know. They'll make me act like a lady and treat me like a child."

"Well, it's what you are."

"A lady?"

He grinned slightly, shaking his head "Gods no girl, you're no lady. I mean that you're still a child.

Arya stood up abruptly, in anger. The Hound began to chuckle. _Stupid bastard._

"You want to fight me little wolf?" He asked before ripping himself off a chunk of rabbit with his teeth, unfazed by her sudden outburst.

"I'm not a child! I'm 17 years old and I can bloody well take care of myself."

"Good! I'll leave then. You can get yourself to the Eyrie. You know the way there?"

"Liar." She sneered. "You wouldn't. You have to take me there yourself so you can collect your ransom. You don't have any money, remember? You need me."

"I don't give a fuck about silver. You need to grow up and shut up. Need to learn how the goddamn world works and stop feeling so goddamn sorry for yourself. You're too much trouble than you're worth." He took another bite from his rabbit, not bothering to spare her a glance, all humor from his voice gone.

"My entire family is _dead_ -"

" _Except_ for your bloody aunt at the bloody Eyrie, which is where I'm bloody taking you if you can finally fucking admit that you just _can't_ take care of yourself. _You're_ the one who needs _me._ "

"I saved us back at the inn yesterday and now we're forced to take the back roads to avoid being recognized because you were stupid and decided to drink too much again like you always do, like the stupid idiot you are! And you never even thanked me, you ungrateful sod! I hate you!!"

And for once, the Hound had nothing to say back to her. He just glared at her reddened face from where he sat on the rock, chewing his rabbit slowly. His fists were clenched. They remained in a deadlock stare for a long time until Arya suddenly turned tail and fled. It wasn't often that she was afraid of him anymore, but the look in his stormy eyes had told her she'd struck a nerve and she wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. So, grabbing Needle, Arya ran as fast as she could and as far as she could until she could no longer feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. The thought of him staring at her was unsettling. Her stomach felt queasy for the second time that day. Most often during their travels, ever since they'd left the brotherhood, he'd treated her as though she were a flea. He would barely give her any notice at all unless he needed to scratch the itch by giving her what she wanted or squash her with his snide remarks and insults. She didn't mind it when he dismissed her. That was easy to ignore, but things had changed between them recently and she didn't really know how she felt about the changes. He was treating her differently. In what way exactly she wasn't sure, but now when he looked at her, he actually looked, and it made her angry.

A strange feeling began to form in the pit of her stomach, as if someone was tickling her on the inside and a kind of heat began to spread from that to bellow her belly, all the way down to her feet, and above, sending shivers up the back of her neck. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, her face still red. Taking needle, she started her dance, trying to ignore the discomfort in the pit of her stomach and the tingling in her flushed cheeks. Her heart pounding, she repeated the names again and again.

_...Joffery_

_...Cersei..._

_...Ilyn Payne..._

_...Ser Meryn Trant..._

_...The Mountain..._

_...The Hound._

 

**Hey! I know this chapter is a little different than the others, but I hope you still liked it :) We're going to be getting into some thickening of the plot soon, so stay tuned...and don't forget to leave reviews/feedback! I want to write a story that you guys want to read, so please don't be afraid of suggestions! Am I staying true to the characters so far? Let me know what you think. This is my first real fanfic. I'm just a novice! -OW**

 


	4. The Arse of Hell

After some time had passed, the girl came back from wherever she'd run off.  Sandor supposed she'd been practicing her water dancing again like she tended to most days.  Maybe, he thought, he'd been a little too harsh on the wolfling earlier that morning.  She was just so naive, sometimes he wanted to slap her straight across the face.  He had once, to prove a point, and couldn't help but feel rotten after he'd done so.  She didn't ever cry, but he could tell she wanted to.  The pup was certainly tough on the outside, but underneath that little shell of hers she was all mushy and sweet and soft, just like her poor sister.  A highborn girl, even though she denied it.  She'd lost her family and was still coming to terms with that fact and Sandor needed to remind himself that those feelings of loss and emptiness, though familiar to him, were new and strange and frightening to her.  Sometimes he thought himself to be a fool.  Seven hells, he was growing a soft spot for the bitch.

Wordlessly, the girl sat down on the ground across from him.  She was still angry. Sandor clicked his teeth.  This was going to be tough.  Diplomatic reasoning really wasn't his cup of tea, or his strong suit for that matter.  Hopefully she'd cooled off enough to the point where she would actually listen to him, though she rarely ever did to begin with.

"Better now?" He asked her, trying to sound as sympathetic as he could manage.

No reply.  

She was rather focused on twiddling a long piece of grass between her thumb and forefinger.  Pointedly ignoring him.

 _Fuck! Stubborn bitch. Screw diplomatic reasoning._ Sandor could feel his face reddening.  Now it was her turn to get under his fucking skin.  He changed his tone.

"Pack up your bedroll and get everything on your little pony. We're leaving right now."

Thankfully, the girl said nothing to him, but silently did as she was told.  What a huge relief.  A woman's wrath, Sandor was beginning to learn, really wasn't something he wanted to have aimed at himself.  And she already wanted to kill him.  The Stark bitch had been just 12 years old when her family arrived in Kings Landing.  He thought she was wild then.  Five years later she was just as wild (maybe even more so), quickly learning to become a ruthless killer, and on top of that, she was seeming more like a woman every day.  It wasn't a good thing.  Women were hard to control in the first place and Arya-fucking-Stark had always been as fucking crazy as they come.  If he didn't want a vengeful, vindictive, manipulative, half-insane child on his hands, he certainly didn't want to be dealing with a grown woman of the same nature.   _The older they get, the worse they fucking get_.  Better not to let her catch on.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Once they'd geared their horses and Sandor had pissed out the remnants of their small fire, the pair set off for the Eyrie once more.  They crossed the small river without trouble and it seemed that the rest of their trek wasn't set to be very difficult as far as the terrain was concerned.  They'd be riding over flat land until they reached the mountain range.  The sun, which was high above, warmed them for the cold air that blew across the plains.  Overall, it was a relatively comfortable journey, save the tense and ever-present silence that existed between the two riders for the duration of it.  When they reached the Bloody Gates Sandor had to suppress a groan of relief.  He'd be rid of the bitch soon enough.

One of the men guarding the gates shouted down to them.

"Who comes to the Bloody Gates?"

"The Hound and his, er...travelling companion, Arya Stark, the niece of Lady Lysa Arryn.  I'm here to reunite the little lady with her aunt." He replied.   _The little lady_. He smiled to himself as he saw her twitch from the corner of his eye. 

For a moment, the guard just stared at them, looking them up and down before nodding.

"Very well," He said at last, and ordered the opening of the gates.

Sandor spared a glace at the girl beside him.  A deep scowl rested on her face.  She looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him completely.  Fine by him.

The massive gates opened slowly before them, giving way to the Eyrie.  It was a sight to behold.  A tower nestled in the heart of the mountains that stretched to the sky above. He'd never been, but had heard of the 'Moon Door'; a decorated hole in the middle of the floor of the great hall that those sentenced to death where thrown through to meet their demise at the bottom was famous throughout the seven kingdoms.  If the girl thought she was strong enough to push him over the edge, she would most certainly try.  Or, maybe she would prefer to slit his throat or stab him in the heart...or the eye.  On second thought, the latter seemed more likely. Her bloodlust was sometimes astonishing.

"Ah, and who might this be?" The Lady Arryn met them at the great doors to the hall once they'd climbed the hundreds of stairs to the top and were recovering their breath.  She was known to be a a tad "off" and Sandor realized that rumors did her no justice.  Her face was sunken in and an ill grey while her eyes bugged out of her skull like a rodent's, bloodshot and wild looking.  This was Lysa Tully, Catelyn Stark's sister and aunt to Sansa and Arya Stark?  How on earth could this gaunt, sickly-looking harpy possibly be related to the other Stark women?  Sansa was already quite a beautiful young thing the last time he saw her when she was just 16 and Arya, by no means a princess, wasn't half bad to look at herself.  He quickly cursed himself for that thought.

"Sandor Clegane, my Lady. I've brought with me, your niece, Lady Arya Stark." He gestured to the wolfling who shot him a look of hatred.

The Lady Arryn gasped and moved to embrace the girl.  She stiffened at her aunt's touch and, suddenly, Sandor couldn't help but feel the need to smack the scrawny fucking woman upside the head.   _She's never met you in her life, you stupid cunt_.

After smothering her long-lost niece, the Lady Arryn finally released her and, _by the gods_ , wiping tears from her eyes, smiled lovingly at the girl.  Then, she turned her attention to the stairs behind her and called out in a sing song voice.

"Peytr my love, Sansa dear! Come come! You're sister has returned to us!"

There were running footsteps that echoed throughout the hall before a young, auburn haired maiden appeared from behind the grand archway with a beaming smile on her perfect porcelain face. It was Sansa-goddamn-Stark, 20 years old and a fucking angel if he'd ever seen one.  Sandor's heart skipped a beat.  A brief moment passed and a short, thin, and notoriously sly man soon stepped into view from behind the girl and his heart skipped another in entirely the wrong way.

 _Lord Peytr Baelish_.

He'd brought his little captive straight to where the arse of heaven shits into the mouth of hell.

**Bit of a cliffhanger here I suppose! What's going to happen now? Lol I know, but you don't! ;p Until next time, -OW**


	5. A Little Lady (Part One)

"Arya!"

Sansa ran down the stairs excitedly, beaming with joy, to greet her little sister. They embraced each other tightly; Sansa, quite a bit taller than the pup. She wore a well-fitted robin's egg blue dress that touched the floor with long, flowing sleeves and a slightly brighter blue sash fastened around her thin waist. Her auburn hair was down and cascaded freely over her shoulders, catching the light of the pale sun that shone through the windows in the ceiling of the great hall and making it shine. At Kings Landing she had always worn her hair up in the latest southern fashions. Those styles never did do much for Sansa. It had been four years since the last time Sandor saw her, at the battle of Blackwater, and pleaded for her to run away with him. He'd been drunk, angry and not in his right mind then. He'd frightened her, though she was a fragile little dove. The song she sang to him in fear that night, with his knife at her soft neck, was a thing that Sandor would never forget for the rest of his days. He wished he hadn't been so hateful to her. Maybe then she would be able to see him as something other than a monster. Over the years he could see that she'd grown twice as beautiful as she was before. A tall, graceful and poised young woman with piercing crystal clear blue eyes and flawless ivory skin. What a sight she was. His little bird.

Their eyes met for a brief moment while she held her sister close, and Sandor quickly darted his away. _Don't embarrass yourself, you stupid fuck_. Sansa smiled slightly at him before the two parted once more. The wolf bitch, amazingly, for the first time Sandor had ever seen, was actually smiling. It was a truly genuine smile. Not mocking, or sly or bitter in any way. She looked _happy_ for once. The sisters laughed together and Sansa even began to cry. Even the tears that rolled down her cheeks were somehow elegant.

"Seven heavens Arya, you're so old! And look at your hair!" She exclaimed as she ran her fingers gently through the chin length cropped, tangled mess of hair atop her younger sister's head. "What's happened to you? Why are you dressed like a boy?"

The little wolf shrugged and ran her own hand through her messy brown locks as if she hadn't been aware of their length previously. She peered down at her garb: dirty torn apart boots, dirty ripped trousers, a dirty ripped tunic, and Needle fastened to her side by the dirty sword belt around her waist. She was utterly filthy. Sandor probably wasn't that much better off either. "It's been a long five years," She promised. "I'll tell you all about it sometime."

Sansa smiled brightly.

"Yes, you must! Now that you'll be staying with us we'll have all the time in the world to spend together!"

Sandor noticed a small frown briefly touch over the wolf girl's grimy face. Her sister failed to.

"Um-yes, right. I suppose I am now." She grew silent. Her smile faded. Sansa, seemingly oblivious to her sister's sudden change of demeanor, grinned and hugged her again before turning her attention to Sandor. He swallowed and tried to keep his face expressionless as her eyes came onto his.

"Thank you ser," She said, addressing him with a misnomer, "for bringing my sister back to us safe and unharmed. You have my thanks." She gave a little bow. A perfect little bow. Gods, she was radiant.

"Now, what, may I ask, is the true nature of the Hound's visit today?"

They were interrupted by Littlefinger. He was standing beside the Lady Arryn, hands clasped behind his back. He smiled insincerely at Sandor, who resisted the urge to render the man headless right then and there. What was he doing in the Vale, here at the Eyrie and not still scheming in the king's small council? The man always had something sinister up his sleeve. Sandor never had liked the little lord. Something just wasn't right with the situation. He could almost smell it. If both Littlefinger and Sansa were here instead of Kings Landing....how did Sansa get herself all the way to the Vale from Kings Landing? Gods, how did she manage to even _escape_ from Kings Landing? Certainly not on her own. Something was definitely amiss. An uneasy silence formed in the hall between the lot of them before someone finally decided to break it. That someone happened to be Arya.

"My lord, the Hound has brought me here to safety. We've been travelling nonstop ever since he rescued me from the brotherhood without banners some months ago."

_Rescued? That's a bit of an overstatement..._

"I would guess the true nature of his visit would be to collect his reward and be on his way after spending the night." She finished in a somewhat bitter tone and cocked her head to him, meeting his eyes momentarily.

"I'm sorry, a reward?" The Lady Arryn stepped forward from beside where Littlefinger still stood. "When was there ever promise of reward? Hound, good deeds are done for the sake of the deed itself, not for the promise of reward."

Her bloodshot eyes widened even further as she continued to lecture him.

"You've brought me my niece and served as her protector while travelling on dangerous roads. You've done a good thing and I am sure she has thanked you many times already, but no one sent for you to do this and there was no promise of reward to begin with. If you think I'm going to pay you for this good deed you are sorely mistaken. I believe knowing that the girl is safe here in the Eyrie by your doing is reward enough, don't you?"

Sandor's jaw tightened as he tried to control his sword hand from reaching to the hilt of his weapon. He should kill them all. Cut off all their heads, take their silver and be done with it, but he wouldn't dare with Sansa in the room. What a waste of fucking time! Taking the little Stark brat all this way for nothing. Always listening to her incessant chattering and complaining. No, she hadn't even thanked him once. And now she just stood there angrily, waiting for him to leave. He'd been horribly mislead. _That's what I get for dealing with the Starks_. Sandor uttered a slew of curses under his breath before he realized that Littlefinger pulled the Lady Arryn to his side and was now whispering something in her ear. Once they were finished, the pair turned back to him. A fake smile was clearly painted on the face of the Lady, poorly disguising her true feelings of contempt and disapproval of what ever conclusion she and Peytr had reached.

It was he who spoke first.

"Clegane, we would be honoured to provide you with a generous sum in return for bringing my Lady's niece back to her family safe and sound. We would also like to offer you a bed and a bath tonight if you so desire so you can relax and refresh yourself before you start on your way again tomorrow. As well, if you'd care to join us for supper tonight in the dining hall, by all means, please do."

_Yes, there's something very wrong about this._

"Thank you for the offer, but I think I'll just take the silver and be on my way." He replied.  

Littlefinger raised a hand.

"I insist." He said.

Standing just beside Sansa, Sandor could see the pup's eyes grow larger. She was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, rocking just barely from side to side. Seven hells, she was nervous like he'd never seen her. Gone was the anger from before. It had been replaced by fear. Slowly, very slowly, he saw her shake her head slightly to the side and then back again.

_Please, don't leave me here._

He sighed.

_I won't._

"Very well," He reluctantly agreed, "I'll stay for one night and leave tomorrow morning."

Littlefinger's face contorted into something akin to a grin, though it looked much more like a grimace.

"Good. We'll feast in honour of Arya Stark's return tonight! Supper will be ready shortly."

Sandor's heart lifted a bit when he saw Sansa smile a brilliant smile. She turned to her sister and took one of her hands in her own, pulling her up the stairs after her as she started to climb them.

"Come Arya, let's get you washed up and into a dress."

 

**The next update won't be long. I don't want to keep you waiting, especially if this is technically a two part chapter... -OW**


	6. A Little Lady (Part Two)

Sansa practically skipped up the stairs to her quarters, dragging Arya along behind. The promise of a warm bath and clean clothes after months and months of being on the road certainly did excite her. She really realized just how exhausted she was as she struggled to keep up with her sister racing up the steps for fear that she might collapse.

She spared a glance down at the Hound, who was still standing dumbly at the bottom of the staircase beside Lord Baelish and her aunt. He was looking at Sansa.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm so glad you're here."

Sansa rubbed her hands over her sister's scalp, gently massaging it as she washed her hair. Arya sat soaking herself in a wash basin full of hot water while Sansa helped her to bathe her weak and tired body. She sighed deeply in contentment. She would let herself enjoy tonight.

"Mmm, me too..." Arya murmured, falling into a half sleep of relaxation as Sansa poured warm water over her head to rinse away the remaining soap.

"I just can't believe it's been five years!"

"Since I left Kings Landing? I suppose it really has been that long."

"Since father's execution..."

She pulled a warm washcloth over her shoulders.

"What's happened to you, Arya? "

"I could ask the same of you."

"Well," She began, "It was only just a week ago that I was at Kings Landing for the wedding of King Joffery to the Lady Margaery."

"How did you manage to escape?? Weren't you going to marry Joffery?"

"I _was_. Thankfully, he grew bored of me rather quickly and discarded me for Lady Margaery after the Battle of Blackwater when Stannis Baratheon tried to sack the city."

"I remember the time the Lannisters first came to Winterfell...you were so smitten by him then."

Sansa laughed bitterly.

"I was a stupid little girl. I wish I could have seen through him like you did so easily! He was a monster to me. To everyone. I prayed to the gods every night that he would die choking on a piece of his food, or trip on his way down the stairs and fall onto his head, or even die at someone else's hand...I just never would have foreseen that someone being me."

"King Joffery is dead?!" Arya whirled around to face her older sister. She couldn't believe her ears. "King Joffery is dead and _you_ murdered him?? How???"

"It was Peytr who planned it. I didn't even know I had until he told me so when he rescued me. I'd been wearing a necklace with poisoned beads given to me by a man he hired to aid me in helping me to escape Kings Landing. Somehow, one of them ended up in Joffery's wine cup. Now the Lannisters all want me dead, except for Tyrion. He's blamed for poisoning the King as well. Did you know, they made me marry him! The Imp!"

"Well, at least the little beast is finally dead. It's been long overdue in my opinion."

"Oh Arry, you haven't the faintest clue."

Arya paused.

"Sansa," She spoke thoughtfully, taking herself carefully out of the bath and wrapping a towel around her body to dry it. "Why did _Lord Baelish_ rescue you?"

Her sister's mouth opened a little into the shape of an 'o'. She'd struck a nerve.

"Arya, I-I do believe that he's in love with me." She stuttered. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "He kissed me the other day in the courtyard."

"Kissed you?" She whispered back.

_The bastard always was a little creep._

Sansa nodded.

"Well...?" She coaxed her on. There was no way she was letting this slide.

"And I think I liked it."

_Gods, no._

Arya cringed.

"That's right twisted you know."

A blushed passed over Sansa's cheeks and she lowered her eyes in embarrassment. Arya couldn't help but feel a small bit guilty. She hadn't meant to shame her sister. But Littlefinger?

"I know."

"It's just because he was in love with mum and you remind him of her."

"I know."

She rubbed a towel over her head and shook out her damp hair. It felt amazing to be clean again.

"What's he doing here in the Vale anyway?" She asked, rubbing the rest of herself dry.

Sansa shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, he's married to Lysa, aside from that I don't-"

"They're _married_?" Arya couldn't believe her ears. It was too much. Littlefinger, she knew, always had something nasty in the works in that sinister mind of his. For all his scheming and backstabbing, he was someone people generally tried to stay away from (though apparently not her sister), and now he was her _uncle_? There was no way she'd be staying at the Eyrie if he was, though she said nothing more to Sansa on the issue. She quickly redirected the conversation.

"In any case, it doesn't matter. So, what dress are you putting me in tonight?" Arya sat down on her sister's bed expectantly. There would be no more talk of serious business tonight. Gods, she hadn't worn a dress in years. Sansa's spirits lifted instantly at the mention of beautifying her typically boyish looking little sister. She smiled widely and playfully trotted over to her closet. She'd always been the perfect maiden. She carried herself gracefully in a way that Arya would never be able to. All of her movements were soft and gentle and ladylike. Sansa was the polite one, the pretty one, the one whom everyone always favoured. She always was. And she'd become even more beautiful and womanly since the last time Arya had seen her. It was no wonder that the Hound was in love with her. Littlefinger too. Everyone was in love with Sansa. Beautiful Sansa.

She picked out a simple dress of olive green with long, tight fitting sleeves and showed it to her sister, clearly proud of her choice.

"Try this one," She said, "It matches your eyes."

Arya managed a smile. She was tired and didn't particularly want to stand up from the bed, let alone attend supper with poor company such as there was surely to be at the table that night. She did though, and slipped on the dress which surprisingly fit her perfectly. It was a strange feeling not to be wearing the bindings around her chest to hide her breasts underneath the tunic she usually wore. Sansa showed her to a mirror. When Arya finally saw her reflection she gasped.

"Who in seven hells is that?"

Sansa laughed softly.

"It's you." She kissed Arya on the cheek and smiled. The proud sister.

_Gods, Sansa._

"Next time you do that I'll slap you." Was her reply.

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

Arya inspected herself in the mirror. It had been quite some time since she'd been clean and even longer since she'd been clean with a mirror to look at herself in. Seven hells, she looked like a completely different person. Dare say like a woman.

_So, is this what happens when you put on a dress..._

The sudden thought of the Hound seeing her wearing something as ludicrous as a dress made her frown. She couldn't wear this to supper! He would most definitely laugh at her, the insufferable git.

_Stop making things up in your head, Arya._

Realizing she'd been carried away by her own thoughts she drew in a breath to calm herself. Why did she even care what he thought of her?

_Maybe I can wear a dress too, you stupid fuck!_

Sansa tugged on her arm to step away from the mirror.

"Are you coming?" She asked.

Arya shook herself out of the dialog running in her head and nodded. She followed her older sister out of the room and down the stairs to the dining hall where Lysa and her son Robin, Littlefinger, and the Hound sat around a table in the centre of the room. The food was already on the table, smelling irresistibly delicious and making her mouth water. She hadn't eaten a proper meal in months.

"Evening." She nodded to the rest of the table as the started to take her seat. Only then did she notice the Hound sitting across from her, open mouthed and staring.

_Fuck._

Her previously indifferent expression immediately changed into a harsh scowl. She could feel her face growing red and hot. She kicked him hard under the table and he quickly averted his eyes as though he hadn't meant to be staring in the first place. She didn't have as much of an appetite anymore.

_Thanks for ruining supper._

_Fucking asshole._

 

**Hey! Sorry this bit I've got to split up into several parts, but bear with me! -OW**


	7. A Little Lady (Part Three)

Once the girls had left, Peytr Baelish showed Sandor to his quarters where he was left to himself at last. He was somewhat glad to have a real bed to sleep in for the night, even if it was where it was, and not to mention a free meal. Though, he reminded himself to be wary of Littlefinger's seemingly hospitable attitude towards him. It rarely was that his actions were genuine. The man wasn't to be trusted. The thought of leaving the wolf girl alone at the Eyrie with the likes of him didn't particularly sit well with Sandor, nor did the idea that the little bird had already been alone for some time at the Eyrie with the likes of Peytr Baelish, the sly cunt.

He was planning something, Sandor just didn't know what.

When in his quarters, he bathed himself for the first time in weeks and changed into his only (relatively) clean clothes left from one of the small saddle bags he'd brought with them. Clean wasn't something he was used to being very often. He felt good, but he'd feel even better with a bit of food in his gut. He was fucking hungry.

The dining room was large and dull and echoey. Only three seats were filled at the table by the Littlefinger, the Lady Arryn and her young son, who was just as sickly looking as she if not more so. He noted that the company wasn't ideal, and that being said, Sandor did prefer to be alone in general, but it was just that tonight the company really wasn't ideal. The only thing that kept him from wanting to kill everyone in the room was the damn food on the table, which smelt bloody fantastic. He took his seat to the right of Lady Arryn, dragging his chair out from the table and causing it to squeak loudly. She shot him a rude look before turning her attention to her son at the other side of her.

_Oh bugger off, skinny bitch._

"Dear, how about I serve you some chicken and you can start eating now? You must be so hungry."

The boy smiled widely and rubbed his belly while nodding enthusiastically.

"Give me the biggest piece!"

Sandor couldn't help but catch Littlefinger-who was sitting at the head of the table next to Robin- make a slightly disgusted face at the mother and son. He could relate. The boy was a greedy little bugger with the face of a hog.

While the Lady Arryn doted over her precious little boy, the doors to the dining hall opened once more. The little bird stepped gracefully into the room and curtsied with a charming smile. Forget the food, she looked good enough to eat on her own with her pretty, fluttering eyelashes and delicate curved body. He would give anything to be able to tear that much-too-modest dress from her. She took her seat beside Peytr, opposite the boy, and folded her hands politely in her lap. Such a lady.

_Seven hells, if I could have her just for one night..._

Another girl clumsily followed in after her. One whom he didn't seem to recognize. Sansa's handmaiden? No, wait. He recognized her alright. He just wasn't used to seeing her without the usual layer of dirt and grime that covered her face most of the time...or in a bloody dress. It was a tight little number too. In it, he could easily see everything that was usually concealed by her typical wear of tunic and trousers and he confirmed to himself that she must not really be a boy after all, as she so often pretended to be. Sometimes she was rather convincing in her squire's garb and foul mouth, with her dark brown hair cut sharply at chin-length. She could still pass for a young boy if she tried. A very feminine boy, but a boy just the same. Not so now. Now, Sandor realized that she'd done quite a fine job at convincing him as well. She was most definitely a girl. No, not just a girl. A young woman. He could see that plain as day as his eyes wandered unwittingly up and down the gentle curves of her body. Chest and buttox clearly distinguishable from the rest of her, she was not the shapeless stick of a girl he imagined her to be after all. In fact, she must have kept her breasts bound to give the appearance of being flat chested while they were on the road because he sure as hell didn't remember them being there before. He felt himself getting hard.

_Fucks sakes. Not the wolf bitch._

"Evening," She mumbled shyly to everyone at the table.

As the wolf girl took her own seat across from him Sandor noticed that she was looking straight at him. He'd been staring. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise as she came to that realization and her big grey eyes grew even larger before she narrowed them again and scowled, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. She kicked him in the shin under the table. He turned his eyes to the food on the table and tried to imagine that no one was sitting in the chair in front of him.

Nothing much was said at supper by anyone. Even Littlefinger barely spoke over the course of the meal.

_Some celebration indeed._

It was a more than slightly uncomfortable situation for Sandor, made no better by the little wolf's presence at the table as she struggled to eat without getting food on her face somehow or spilling whatever liquid she tried to pour into her cup and he struggled trying not to watch her fumbling about like she was. The girl was completely out of her element. At one point, she went to take too large a bite from a piece of bread and accidentally dropped part of it down the front of her dress, then attempted to try and fish it out from her cleavage as everyone else pretended not to notice. He resisted the strong urge to laugh out loud, instead taking another big bite from his chicken leg. At least the food was good, if not so the company.

After they'd eaten, everyone excused themselves from the table and retired to their respective rooms. Peytr Baelish bid them goodnight.

"Sleep well tonight Arya Stark, Clegane. You deserve to rest."

The girl nodded without speaking and made an effort to exit quickly.

He turned to Sandor.

"We'll be seeing you off tomorrow morning. Be assured you will receive your reward for bringing the young Stark to be with her family again. Sleep well."

He grunted in reply before leaving the hall. There was something odd about the way he spoke, and his unusual silence at supper that set Sandor on edge. Maybe it would be better if he did leave that night, he thought as he made his way back to his room.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A short while later, there was a knock on Sandor's door.

"Who is it."

He demanded, more than slightly irritated that someone had decided to knock on the door right at that particular moment. He'd been busy.

"Let me in."

It was the wolf girl. Gods, of anyone he'd hoped it would be Sansa. No such luck.

"What do you want."

_Fuck off. This is not a good time, girl._

"Let me in," She repeated, keeping her voice to a sharp whisper. "We need to talk."

That could mean anything.

"What's there to talk about."

"Let me in you big, dumb idiot. I said we need to _talk_."

Sandor sighed. She wasn't going away anytime soon. He did the buckle on his trousers and reluctantly opened the door for her. The wolf bitch quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind her carefully. She was still clad in that stupid dress.

"Okay, now tell me what you want."

She headed over to the window and opened it without bothering him even a glance.

"Help me escape." She said as she leaned out, looking down and over the ground far below them and giving him a perfect view of her arse, which he tried to ignore. She was talking to him.

"What's wrong with you?" He replied, annoyed. "It took us nearly two fucking months to get here! You get to see your sister again after, seven hells how long? Five years? You're reunited with your family, get to sleep in a real bed every night, wear clothes that don't fucking stink and eat whenever you bloody want. Now you want to fucking leave?"

The little wolf turned to him and crossed her arms in front of her, pushing her breasts up and against each other at the low neckline of her green dress. She didn't know any better.

"I don't trust Littlefinger is what's wrong with me."

"Well, that makes two of us."

"He's planning something. I know it."

"Littlefinger's always planning something. Get used to it."

"No, I mean I think he's planning something to do with me. He doesn't want me here."

"How do you know that?"

"He's in love with Sansa."

"What??" Sandor tensed at the thought of Littlefinger with his dirty paws all over his little bird.

_A schemer and a sleazy scumbag._

"Why's that then?" He asked, hoping she didn't have a good answer.

"He kissed her the other day. Sansa told me. She said she liked it too. Littlefinger doesn't want me here. He just wants Sansa."

How on earth could Sansa Stark enjoy _that_?

"That's twisted."

"That's what I said. So?"

"So what?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically.

"So, you going to help me or what?"

Sandor threw his head back and laughed in frustration. He wished he could just leave the girl there, claim his ransom and finally be rid of her once and for all, but he knew he couldn't do it. He just couldn't. She was bloody hard as fuck to shake off.

"Gods, fucking fine." He answered with an exasperated sigh. "Be waiting in the stables at first light tomorrow morning with your things packed."

The wolf bitch smiled smugly, pushed herself away from the ledge of the window and walked over to the door before turning back to him.

"Also, I can wear a dress if I bloody well want to. I don't care what you think."

And then she left, closing the door silently as she exited the room, leaving him alone with his indecent thoughts.

 

**Damn! I hope this is getting good for you guys, because it's getting pretty fun to write. I thought this chapter was a decent lead into what's going to happen next. Arya and the Hound relationship is getting a bit more interesting I hope? Tell me what you think :) Comments, questions? Until next time, -OW**


	8. Downhill

Arya tiptoed as quietly as she could through the empty halls of the keep after leaving the Hound's quarters. She would go to her room, pretend to go to bed and wait until her sister was sleeping before packing her things for another long journey to wherever she and the Hound were headed. It was a sad thing to be leaving Sansa so soon and Arya thought long and hard about her choice. She regretted the way things had been between her and her sister in the past. She wished she'd been kinder to her. Even if she was still quite naive and almost childlike in her sweet ways than her younger sister, she had a special kind of heart. Innocence was a rare thing to have, especially in such a world so cruel. Arya admired her for that. Maybe it would keep her safe somehow.

_If she's survived this long..._

She slowly creaked open the door to her and Sansa's shared room. Her sister was sitting tentatively on the bed, playing with her thumbs, already in her night gown. She turned her head at the sound and smiled plainly. Arya slipped inside and went to sit down beside her.

"Is everything alright?" She asked. Something seemed amiss.

Sansa raised her eyebrows and shot a look up to the ceiling. Arya noticed that there were sounds coming from the floor above them, as if someone were stomping or jumping or-

"Oh," She cringed at the thought of a steamy night between her aunt and Littlefinger unfolding just above their heads. "Can't sleep?"

"I think I've gotten used to it."

"They do this every night?"

Her sister grimaced.

"Yes, every night."

"Wow, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You're not the one up there-"

_"Ah, Peytr! Gods, that's it, that's it!! Seven hells, oooooo!!!"_

There was a series of loud thumps and then silence. Arya wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Sounds like they're done." She said, and pushed back onto the bed.

"Finally."

Sansa did the same. The sisters laid beside each other and looked up at the ceiling for some minutes before either of them spoke again. There was an air of disquiet. Something was definitely amiss. At last, Sansa turned her head to face her little sister.

"You're going to leave aren't you..."

Arya sighed. So much for plans. She sat up.

"How did you know?"

"Because you're Arya Stark. I may have not seen you in nearly five years, but I still know you well enough to know that you do what you want when you want to. You hate it here, don't you." She spoke with tears in her doey blue eyes. "I don't want you to go. Please don't. Tell me I'm wrong."

She looked hopefully at her sister as her lower lip began to tremble. Arya couldn't help but feel guilty for abandoning her like this. She awkwardly placed a small hand on her shoulder. Comforting had never been something that came easy to her, but she tried her best.

"I have to." She said, trying to sound sympathetic, but the words just came out hard and emotionless.

Sansa choked on her words.

"Why?" She squeaked. She didn't understand. How could she?

"I have business to take care of outside of the Vale. And you're right-I do hate it here. I don't trust Littlefinger, I don't like his bloody wife or her stupid, sickly little boy, I don't want to be married off to some lord and be forced to wear dresses and bear sons for someone else for the rest of my stupid life. This isn't where I belong. I'm no lady." Arya breathed in deeply and stood up. "Don't tell anyone, Sansa. I'll be leaving at first light. I'm packing my things and leaving with the Hound this morning."

Her sister began to weep, heavy tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto the blanket where she lay.

_Please Sansa, don't do this now._

"Stop crying." Arya demanded in frustration. "You're not helping anything. If you want to stay with me, then come with us." Before adding somewhat bitterly, "I'm sure the Hound would like that."

Sansa struggled to sit herself up and wiped some of the tears from her eyes, her sobs subsiding. She wore a confused look on her face.

"What do you mean?" She asked innocently. As if it wasn't obvious. As if she didn't see him looking at her like he did. Arya couldn't count the number of times he'd mentioned her older sister's name in passing or in any of their brief conversations or arguments during their long road to the Vale. He was absolutely mad for her. Sansa, the weeping girl. She had no idea.

"Never mind. Just-come if you want, okay?"

"I-I can't. I have to stay. I'll be safe here. I'm not brave like you and, besides, I..."

"You love him."

"I don't know...."

Arya shook her head. Sansa was still that girl. The silly little girl with her silly little crushes. She'd missed her, and would miss her again when she was gone, but the two girls mixed like oil and water. They could never be easy with each other. She could think of a million things to say to that, but instead of throwing some sort of insult or pointed remark or accusation at her sister, she accepted the truth of it.

"You might." She replied, even though she knew better. Littlefinger was impossible to love.

The two sisters looked at each other for a moment in silence. This was goodbye yet again. Sansa finally stood up, wiping the remaining tears away from her reddened face, and walked over to the closet, seeming suddenly determined. Maybe she would come?

"I'll give you some of my clothes to take with you." She said. "They're dresses, but you can cut the skirts off and wear them as shirts so you don't have to wear the same filthy clothes day in and day out. And I'll get you some food from the kitchen for breakfast and lunch tomorrow. Some bread and meat I suppose would be fine? Did you want to bring wine? I get get you some wine if you'd like-"

A lump formed in Arya's throat.

"Thanks for helping me, Sansa."

Her sister stopped, back still facing her.

"I'm going to miss you."

"Me too."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

The sound of the first songbirds chirping broke the night. It was still mostly dark outside from what she could see, but the dawn was approaching in the east slowly but surely. The light from the setting moon shone faintly in through the one small window in the room, illuminating one small square of the floor in front of her feet. Arya sat on the edge of the bed with her little bag on her lap. She'd been awake all night and felt rather exhausted. And yet, she was excited by the prospect of being on the road again, even if it was with the Hound. At least he was taking her away. 

_ Leaving again.  _

She looked down at her sister still dreaming peacefully. It was time to go. Being careful not to wake the sleeping girl, Arya made her way to the door and opened it. She peered down the quiet hallway to the left and right of her before she stepped outside the room, making sure that there was no one in sight and no one to be heard. After taking one last long look at her poor, foolish, sweet sister, her only close family left , Arya closed the door and turned to walk down the empty hall. She realized why they must have named it the Eyrie, for eerie was exactly how the dark and silent halls felt to her as she listened to her own small footsteps echoing throughout them, walking alone with her small bag of provisions and wearing one of Sansa's pretty petticoats over her stained tunic. It was a cold enough morning, there was no denying. She was thankful for her sister's generous offerings of clothes and food, but she only had so much she could carry and, therefore, didn't take much. Although, she was glad she'd taken the coat. Winter was certainly coming. 

She came, at last, to the archway of the great hall and looked down on it from the landing where she stood above at the top of the stairs. She stopped there. Listened. Nobody. Arya took a breath. She could see the doors on the other side of the room. 

_ Gods' piss on me if I'd stayed here...  _

Thankfully, there were no guards standing by the front entrance as she made her way out into the cold morning air. Praising her luck (or had the Hound already done away with them?), she couldn't help but smile to herself. The sky was growing lighter and lighter by the minute as the sun continued to rise into the grey sky, shining morning light onto the mountains closely surrounding the Eyrie and Arya gazed out at them, in awe of their sheer size and skyscraping height. Snow began to fall, ever so lightly. There was no wind. She stood there for a long while, admiring the sight of the dawn breaking before reminding herself to move again. 

_ The stables. He told me to be at the stables.  _

She walked across the bridge high over the ground below. 

The stables were beside the front gates, somewhat hidden behind a great boulder. Arya turned her eyes to the guards standing at their positions, high above her, at the tops of the iron gates. When she was sure that none had theirs on her, she quickly dipped around the boulder and went into the stables. There was Stranger and her own horse standing apart beside one another. So the Hound hadn't left her after all like she'd feared he might. 

_ At least he's not a liar. So now I just wait?  _

Reluctantly, she sat down on the cold, hard ground and rested her head against the back wall. She would wait there until he came. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

"Right, let's get a fuckin move on then! Lord Baelish said 'e'd pay us good if we could get 'em to Kings Landin in a fortnight, no less. An' I ain't missin out on no good silver cuz o' you lot not movin quick enough to get there!" 

"'E's bout to fall of the 'orse." 

"Well, if e does, pick 'im up then for fucks sakes!" 

"But 'es fuckin heavy." 

Arya awoke with a start. The voices sounded close by. She peeked outside the stables and saw that the sun had risen considerably higher in the sky. How long had she been asleep for? Surely not long.... 

"Then don't let 'im fall off the fuckin 'orse!" 

_ Oh fuck.  _

Arya saw them coming towards the gates on horseback. They must've kept theirs somewhere else. In the keep maybe? It didn't matter. What mattered was that they had him. They had the bloody Hound. Her only ticket out of that place, and they had him knocked out and hanging on the back of a great bloody horse. 

_ How the fuck did they knock him out in the first place?  _

Part of her somewhat enjoyed seeing him passed out and helplessly swinging back and forth as the beast trotted quickly in pace towards the front gates with the rest of the company, which was of about six or seven other men- six or seven knights of the Vale. Part of her liked seeing him like this. Served him right for being a rude, cocky, filthy fuckhead who never listened to anything she said. The other part of her would rather that filthy fuckhead at her side, helping her escape the Eyrie. So, she told herself to think. How could Arya Stark get herself past the gates without being noticed by the guards? And how on earth would she manage to rescue the _Hound_ , _her_ little damsel in distress, from seven full grown knights on horseback? 

She took off her petticoat. 

 

** Kings Landing??? I wonder what's going to happen next O.O -OW **


	9. The Big Rescue

He was looking down at her from his perch at the top of the gates, probably trying to get a good look at her face. It was times like these when Arya was glad she was still able to pass as a boy, or at least remain somewhat androgynous. They'd been talking for quite some time already and she was growing irritated.

"What's your name boy?" He asked her at last, seeming to have given up on his eyes.

She exhaled in relief. She was fairly sure he wasn't one of the guards she and the Hound had passed the day before, but there was always the chance.

_Okay, a name, yes-a name,_

"Jon, m'lord. M' name's Jon." She replied and hoped he didn't think she'd taken too long to answer. Jon was a good name wasn't it? Her brother's name. She wondered about him sometimes. Actually, she wondered about him often-mostly if he was still alive or not. She hoped so. Maybe she could go there, to the wall, and live in the far north with him, assuming he was, in fact, still alive and kicking. It would be better than running around aimlessly with the Hound, wouldn't it? Arya stopped herself in her thoughts.

"Jon, eh. Well Jon, you say you're squiring for them knights that just passed by, hm?" The guard seemed convinced...at least to her being a boy. She didn't know if he believed the rest. He wasn't opening the gates yet. She spoke up to answer him.

"Yes, m'lord, that I am. I just woke up a bit late, but if I don't catch up with 'em soon, I might lose 'em."

"That your horse?" The man asked, pointing to Stranger, who's reins she had clasped in her right hand. He'd been extremely difficult to wrestle into the bridle, and was still shaking his head vigorously up and down and side to side, occasionally rearing up on his hind legs. How on earth did the Hound manage to ride the beast like he did? She hadn't realized that Stranger was such a nightmare to control. That morning she'd been kicked to the ground three times by his flailing hind legs just trying to get around him. Her own horse, Craven, hadn't caused her any trouble, and was standing calmly on her left side.

"No m'lord. It's that big man's 'orse. 'Is name's somethin like Stranger I think. This one's my own." She gestured to Craven.

He stood there for a moment without saying anything.

_Please let me through..._

Arya fidgeted nervously with the hilt of her sword. She half wished that he were close enough for her to kill. The more time she wasted here, the more ground she'd lose between her and the captured Hound and the less time she have to create distance between her and Lord Baelish, who would most certainly be on her tail in a matter of hours, if not minutes.

She asked him again.

"Beggin' your pardon m'lord, but I really must be makin my way to the rest of 'em now. Think you could open the gates?"

The guard took another minute to stare at her. What was the problem?

_Come on, you halfwit. Let me through-_

"Oy, open em up then!" He called out at last to the others, and slowly but surely, the enormous iron gates began to crank open before her eyes.

_Finally._

Arya couldn't help a smile. She'd done it. She'd gotten herself out to the Eyrie, relying solely on her own wits and a clever disguise. She mounted Craven and ushered him towards the opening gates, pulling Stranger along side. That smile she wore faded as soon as she heard a voice behind her call out,"Stop that girl!"

She veered around and gasped. Riding swiftly on horseback across the bridge headed straight for her was her own bloody uncle, Lord Peytr Baelish. He was just one man, but his word was command and his commands were obeyed and so the gates, now half open, were beginning to close again. She turned back around, heart racing, and kicked Craven to a canter. She'd make it through the gates yet.

" _Girl?_ " The guard from the perch shouted out, she assumed to Littlefinger. Apparently that was something shocking.

_Not all girls wear dresses and ribbons in their hair._

"Yes, yes she's a goddamn girl! Now close the bloody gates!! She's getting away!!"

He was getting closer.

They were just a few feet away from the gates now. Just a bit closer-and then she felt a sharp tug in her right hand. Stranger had conveniently stopped dead in his tracks-the stubborn fuck-and was now pulling back on her, shaking his head side to side. The opening between the gates was fast becoming smaller and smaller. Arya's stomach sank. "Seven hells Stanger, now's not the fucking time!" She hissed at the big black beast and tugged hard on his reins. He kicked up on his hind legs, nearly yanking her off her own saddle. She let go so as not to fall off her horse. Turning back to the gates, she saw that they were nearly closed. A wave of panic and adrenaline washed over her and she brought Craven to a full gallop. She wasn't going to give up now. If she could just make it through the opening...

"Stop her! Arya Stark!" She heard Peytr practically scream at her. A tiny smirk crossed her face at her knowing she'd gotten the better of him. 

_Goodbye Peytr._

_3...2...1..._

The sound and reverberation of the heavy metal doors clanging shut behind her made Arya's teeth knock together. She didn't look back. If they were going to follow her, she needed a decent head start. Her little smirk soon turned into a grin and then into a wild laugh as she felt the cold wind nipping at her nose and cheeks while Craven flew them both further and further down the dirt road, away from the Bloody Gates and the bloody Eyrie, her heart still beating rapidly. But she'd done it. Thank the gods, she'd done it.

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Three days she'd been following their trail as best as she could manage. She never got close enough to hear or see them, but she followed their tracks continuously, only bothering to stop at night for rest. And it was only at night that she got close enough to see their fire, though she was never close enough to be warmed by it. In the mornings she would wait until a half hour had passed since they'd left before she made her own way after them. The riding, for the most part, was easy. They kept more or less to the main road, having nothing to hide from fellow travelers. There weren't many other travelers on the road thankfully for her. Any they did happen to pass seemed harmless and friendly enough, but Arya still couldn't help but tense up every time anyone nodded to her or muttered a "good day" in her direction. She may have dressed as a boy, but she now admitted to herself that she no longer really looked the part, especially not up close. Arya knew well enough that the only things keeping her looking like a boy were her dirty clothes and her short hair. Everything else about her had somehow become undeniably feminine. She hadn't expected that. It just seemed the only way she'd ever been and the only way she could be: a plain, boyish little girl. She'd proved herself wrong, so now she always kept her knife close by (as if she didn't before) and, of course, needle was always at her hip. She would take no risks while travelling essentially alone. Having the Hound beside her had suddenly become an idea that she quite fancied. But she'd have to rescue him first.

The weather was favourable for them. A bit chilly at times, and the nights were cold without fire, but the gods had been kind...that is, until the fourth night. The fourth night it poured.

She hadn't been asleep for long when it began to rain. At first it was just a drizzle, and she pulled Sansa's petticoat over her head to keep her face out of the rain, but not long after, the drizzle became more like a shower, and then she heard thunder.

 _Please no_.

A storm was coming. Within minutes of hearing that first thunder clash, the rain picked up until it poured down on her furiously, soaking all of her clothes and chilling her to the bone. She had almost nothing around her to use for shelter, save a small nook made by a rather large root from the tree nearest them that jutted out of the ground. It was just big enough to cover her head and shoulders, but it was better than nothing, so she quickly crawled into it and turned over onto her back, leaving her legs and most of her torso to stick out the bottom as the rain was now pouring down in buckets. Lying down in discomfort, Arya peered out past her soaking wet feet and through the bushes to the others' camp . She could see their fire dimming. They'd be without it as well tonight. With that thought, she smiled slightly-happy they'd probably be having just as rough a time as she was. She closed her eyes and forced herself to rest, despite the chattering of her teeth.

Morning didn't come quickly. The storm lasted nearly the entire night. Arya had almost frozen to death and her sleep was a restless one. She was wet and exhausted and she felt a bit sick. She'd probably caught cold. But it was time to move again, so Arya forced herself to get up and moved nearer to the camp to see if they had already gone. She crouched down almost to her hands and knees and moved slowly and silently through the brush until she was as close as she could manage to get herself to the camp, which happened to be behind a bush quite close to their fire pit. To her surprise there was also a fire. They hadn't gone after all. In fact, they were all still sitting around it. Why hadn't they left yet? Arya paused. She listened. There was something strange about the situation. No one seemed to be talking...or moving for that matter. Then she noticed the blood. Gods, they were all dead.

A large pair of boots walked in front of her view and stopped. She couldn't see the rest of the man wearing them, but his voice was as good a hint as any.

"Whoever is little shit hiding behind the bushes, if you don't come out in the next five seconds, I'm coming in there and I'm cracking your fucking skull."

 

**I'll get into Sandor's POV next chapter just to fill you guys in on what exactly happened here lol. I'm also thinking of doing a few Sansa POV chapters...what do you guys think? Is it something you'd want? I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I had fun writing it :)**

**-OW**


	10. Seven So-called Kights

Sandor sat still with his back to a large tree, facing away from the fire. He was listening to their talking in loud voices as they sat around it. Mostly about women and their cunts. He could've done well with a woman in that moment. It had been ages since he'd felt a soft woman's flesh touch his own. The talk of it made his cock twitch. Maybe he'd visit a brothel after he'd killed them all. He'd have more than enough money after selling their horses. Tonight was the night, he thought. Sandor was getting sick of being a captive. It didn't really suit him being someone else's prisoner. Sooner or later, they'd have to go. His arms and hands were bound to his slides tightly, but they hadn't tied his hands together, which would make it easier for him to get out of the ropes.

_You always tie the hands, you dimwits._

It had been just a few days since they'd left the Eyrie on horseback and Sandor could only guess at where they were headed, though he had a fairly good one. None of the men would speak to him except to taunt or to get him to eat whatever slop they'd pitifully cooked up for that night's supper, but they disclosed enough to each other within earshot of him to gather a pretty good idea of their destination. He'd spent the past two months trying to get himself away from Kings Landing and now they were taking him back? There was no fucking way. Tonight was the night. By tomorrow they'd all be dead. And he smelled rain in the air.

_Good._

Sure enough, within minutes, small droplets of rain began to fall down and all around them. Sandor worked at the ropes, loosening them as he shifted about. They seemed thin enough to break, but he couldn't break them yet. Not until the fire had gone out, or at least, dimmed considerably. Though he prided himself for being a decent fighter, seven "Kights of the Vale" was a little much for him to take on in a fair fight. He'd need the element of surprise to kill them quickly. If the rain could fall hard enough to put out their fire, that would be ideal.

"I can tell ye, 'er teats were this big, an I ain't lyin- "

The deafening sound of a thunder clap was the harbinger of the storm, after which it began to pour almost instantly, much to Sanor's good fortune. The dwindling shadows of men racing back and forth in front of him, trying to gather their belongings to keep dry, grew smaller and smaller as the fire died out.

"Fuckin fire's out! We got any more wood?"

"'Ell, I can't see shit!"

"Neither can I!"

Sandor grinned ever so slightly. It was time. Puffing out his chest, he pushed both his arms against the ropes and felt them stretch. If he couldn't break them, maybe he would be able to slip out the bottom, or try to find the knot. He couldn't cut it. They'd taken his longsword and Sandor kept no knives under his clothes. That was one of the wolf girl's little tricks. He was reminded of her suddenly and remembered their deal. He'd told her to wait for him at the stables. An unexpected wave of guilt washed over him. He'd completely forgotten. Maybe she'd changed her mind and decided against leaving, he told himself, maybe she wanted to stay with Sansa? No, he knew she never would. The girl was too bloody spirited, if obnoxious, but still, she was wild at heart. She'd never have stayed at the Eyrie. He should have known better. There was a possibility that she'd escaped on her own. She probably could, but where would she go?

_Quit it.  The bitch is finally gone._

Sandor shut her out of his head. He wasn't going to go on worrying about some little girl who'd gotten him in a whole lot more trouble than she was worth, wondering if _she_ was alright. He was happy to be rid of her. Now he needed to focus on freeing himself. He pushed himself harder against the ropes until they dug into him.

_Come on._

Again, and he could feel them begin to tear. Once more, and they broke apart.

_That's it. Now, let's fucking kill these morons._

Another bout of thunder claps rolled loudly over them, shaking the ground. Sandor's eyes had nearly adjusted completely to the to the darkness. He peeked out from behind the tree where he sat and gauged the situation. All the men were still sitting around the extinguished fire, talking to each other, probably still trying to re-light the damn thing. Idiots. It wasn't going to work. Over the sound of the pouring rain, Sandor couldn't hear anything they were saying, which meant that they wouldn't be able to hear him sneaking up behind them. What a perfect night this was.

He stood up slowly and carefully walked around the perimeter of the small clearing where they were camped until he spotted the man furthest away from the group. He was sitting just on the outskirts of the circle, breaking a handful of small twigs one by one, as if that was going to help them any. Sandor snorted. The dumb cunt deserved to die first. He moved closer to the man step by step by step as the rain fell hard around them, cloaking the sound of the sloshing in his boots. The man didn't even look up until Sandor was just inches away from him and by the it was too late. In a split second he crumpled lifelessly into the arms that broke his neck. The sweet sensation of a smooth kill. Sandor guided him down carefully, so as not to make a thud, and felt for his blade. Once he found it, he stood up and walked over to the group. There were six left. The first, Sandor calmly slit his throat and felt the warm rush of freshly spilt blood run over his hand. The man let out a weak gurgling sound as he collapsed, clutching his own neck, that alerted the others. They looked up. Once they'd seen him, Sandor would need to be quick. He didn't want to risk getting injured tonight. Any other day he would have enjoyed a good fight, but these men were hardly any good to begin with, and he didn't want to be sporting any wounds without knowing how far he was away from the nearest town. So, he acted without hesitation and lifted his sword high above him before bringing it down hard on one of their heads, which split evenly in the middle.

_Three down._

One of them reached for the sword at his side, but before he had the chance to grab it, Sandor stabbed him hard in the belly, twisted and pulled out again, quick, to parry an attack from the side. He slipped out from underneath it to behind the attacker and let the man stumble forwards, kicked him to the ground, spun around to slash another man's face and then brought his sword back down onto the fallen one's spine. He screamed. A drop of rain fell into Sandor's eye. Or was it blood?

_Two to go._

The last two men had backed away and were holding their swords out far in front of them. Fucking scared shitless...as they should be. He chuckled to himself. And they called them knights?

"Don't' come any closer!" One of them shouted, backing himself up as Sandor took another step forward. "Don't come any closer and we promise not to kill ye!"

_This is bullshit._

He ran at them, sword at the ready and met the first man's pitiful attempt at a block before knocking his blade straight out of his hands. The other had just ran; the fucking coward had just dropped his own sword and ran away. Like hell he was going anywhere. With just one small "please", Sandor broke the second last man's neck and let him fall to the ground carelessly as he took off to chase down the remaining cunt-of-a-knight into the bushes.

It took nearly two seconds to bring him down.

"Please, please! Don't kill me! I can tell ye anythin ye want to know, I can take ye into town, I'll give ye all our food. Anythin ye want! Just don't kill me, please!"

"Shut the fuck up." Sandor squeezed his chin in one monstrous hand and shook his face. The man whimpered.

"Bloody coward."

And with that, he drove his blade all the way up through the man's gut until the hilt met his flesh.

 

 

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"Whoever is little shit hiding behind the bushes, if you don't come out in the next five seconds, I'm coming in there and I'm cracking your fucking skull."

There was a rustling sound in the bushes in front of him and then, right before his eyes, a girl, dripping wet and filthy, crawled out on her hands and knees, wearing a look of true surprise on her face.

_Seven fucking hells._

"You fucking followed me?"

The wolf girl stood up and raised her eyebrows, taking in the bloody scene before her. She was shivering.

"Holy shit. How did you kill them all?" She asked, hugging herself, shaking. There was something different about the way spoke her question. It, for once, wasn't pointed or sarcastic or rude or anything of the sort, really. If Sandor wasn't imagining things, he could've sworn she sounded... _impressed_? The thought made him feel strangely elevated.

"You're freezing and you're soaking wet, wolf girl. You're an idiot for following me." He replied, not acknowledging her question.

"Fuck you, I've been following you this whole time because I was going to rescue you."

" _You_ were going to rescue _me_? Girl, I thought it was obvious that I can bloody well take care of myself. You, on the other hand, look like complete shit."

As if to confirm his statement, she coughed violently into her elbow, shaking fiercely as she did so. There was that guilt again. She was sick too.

"I wanted to come with you."

Sandor sighed. Of course. Why did he always have such rotten luck?

"Well, fuck. You're here now. Go sit down. You need to get into something dry or else you'll freeze and make yourself sicker. I should stop calling you wolf girl and start calling you wolf moron. You were a fucking idiot for following me."

Surprisingly, she did exactly as he said without saying anything and went to sit down in front of the fire pit, just a foot or two away from where the dead man with his head split down the middle was sitting, folded in on himself, in a pool of blood. She didn't seem bothered by it. Sandor scoured the campsite for any sign of a bag of sorts; one that would possibly contain something dry for the girl to wear, but he found nothing. So, he went to sit down across from her.

"I can't find you any dry clothes and were almost out of food. I think we were headed for a town nearby, so we'll continue that way and sell these horses to make us some money." He said. The girl nodded. Her eyelids were heavy.

_Goddamnit._

"Are we going to Kings Landing?" She murmured, leaning over to the side. Her eyes closed completely. Sandor stood up quickly. She was about to fall over. He lunged out across the fire pit to grab her in time.

"No fucking way I'm going to Kings Landing." He scoffed as he caught her in is arms, lowering her gently to the ground. "That's the one place I've been avoiding."

"No...we have to....go..." The wolf girl's eyelashes fluttered as she shifted into a more comfortable position, bunching her legs up to her chest and resting her head on one of her hands, still shivering. Sandor ran a blood stained hand through his wet hair and exhaled.

"Shut up, and get some fucking rest."

 

**Hey! Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you all liked this chapter. I'm trying to update regularly, but I'm pretty busy these days. I think every 2 or 3 days is fair don't you? Anyways, more to come in the future. As always, leave reviews, ideas, criticisms etc etc. Until next time, -OW**


	11. Her Breasts

The pair set off together that afternoon after the girl had properly rested and Sandor had done some work at cleaning up the bloodshed (dumping bodies into the bushes) and gathering anything useful he could find around camp. He linked up the first six horses and took the last one to ride for himself, seeing as the wolf girl hadn't managed to bring his own along with her. It was understandable. Stranger was a nightmare to control for anyone except himself, but he was still in somewhat of a bad mood about it. And on top of that, the girl had a temperature, which was yet another thing he had to worry about. She hadn't stopped shivering since the morning.

"Are you ready?" Sandor asked the pup, after strapping his saddle onto the horse.

He looked up. The high afternoon sun shone down on them brightly, in stark contrast to the stormy night prior. If there was a town nearby, which was what Sandor was hoping, they would need to leave quickly for it so as not to miss their chances at selling the horses in order to afford dry clothes for the girl and possibly a night at an inn. The thought crossed his mind that she might also need a maester, if her temperature was up. She certainly didn't look well, and was still sitting quietly by the fire pit. Maybe she'd fallen back asleep. Or maybe she was ignoring him.

"Girl!"

"Yeah."

"Well, get up then. We don't have all day." He hopped up onto the horse and waited, watching as she slowly pushed herself to a standing position and walked heavily, dragging her feet, over to her own horse as if she weighed twice as much as she did. She grabbed the top of the saddle and tried pathetically to hoist herself up before she slipped back down. Sandor sighed heavily. He jumped down and walked over to the girl.

"Here," He said, offering his hands to assist her. Without waiting for an answer, he picked her up by the armpits and placed her atop her horse without any difficulty. She weighed as much as a feather.

"Thanks," She muttered in reply. Then they rode off together in silence.

Nearly four hours later, as the sun was beginning to lower in the sky, they found themselves in a small town. Sandor shook the wolf girl to wake her. She'd fallen asleep earlier that afternoon as they were riding and nearly fell off her horse. Fortunately, he'd noticed her leaning sharply to the right before that happened and took her to ride with him for the remainder of their trip. She'd slept the rest of the way too.

With a yawn, she stretched out her arms out to either side of her.

"We're here?"

"Aye girl, we're here."

 

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Not long after they arrived, the pair found a stable to sell their horses. The man there was a small, squat, bald, and greedy looking type of fellow who waddled like a pig. Sandor saw his eyes narrow the moment they walked in and he knew his luck had turned sour yet again.

"Now, what's a couple o rough lookin folk like you doin here with six horses to sell?" He spoke in a suspicious manner, crossing his arms, and taking a wide stance. If he was trying to intimidate, it wasn't going to work.

Sandor huffed.

"I don't think you need to be asking any questions." He said, staring the man down as he lead the horses into the stable. "Will you take them or not?"

The girl dragged her feet along beside him, breathing heavily. She stopped at the entrance to lean herself against the door frame, and slid down to her bottom, closing her eyes. She only seemed to be getting worse. If they managed to sell the horses for a good price, they'd have enough money for food, dry clothes, and a night's stay at the small inn in town. Sandor wasn't too keen on sleeping in town, but he figured that the pup needed to recover, and she wouldn't recover easily while they were living rough on the road. What she really needed was a maester. And what he really needed was to sell those horses.

"I'll take them alright, but I'll take them for two each and no more."

"Seven hells, they're worth at least four each! These are good, healthy fucking horses. You'll give me twenty-four for the lot."

The man smirked, and narrowed his beady eyes even smaller, leaning in.

"You think I don't know who you are, Mad Dog, runnin like a scared little pup with 'is tail between 'is legs? The Lannisters are lookin for you everywhere. You're a man on the run and you'll take any money you can get. I'll give you twelve. You'll leave here with twelve and nothing more."

Sandor stepped closer, towering above the smug little pig man, who probably didn't stand much over five feet.

"Or I could leave with your head." He suggested, bringing his right hand to the hilt of his sword, but he didn't even flinch. There was something uncanny about the little man that reminded Sandor of the Spider, Varys...and that, he didn't like at all.

"And risk drawing all the unwanted attention? You're a smart man, even though you might not look it. Take the twelve and do something about your sick little squire boy passed out in my doorway."

_Not my bloody squire. Not a boy either._

Sandor balled his fists and fought the urge to bash the little man's head in on itself. He could've crushed his skull with one hand, but instead, he took the small bag of coins that was handed to him and turned to head out the door, pulling the girl harshly to her feet. Perhaps a little to harshly. She groaned loudly when he yanked her up by the arm, and grabbed at her stomach.

"Shit girl, you gonna be sick?" He stopped in his tracks and noticed the stable man's eyes widen.

_Yes, you cunt, she's a girl._

Then she retched and threw up on the ground. Sandor let her drop to her hands and knees, completely unsure of what to do.

_What, do I rub her fucking back?_

"Fuck, okay." He said to her, "Just take a minute. I'll go get...something...." Then, reluctantly to the little Varys, "Where can we find a maester?"

"There's no maester in this town." He replied, shaking his head, "I'm the best there is around here."

"Well, help her then. I sure as hell don't know what to do."

"I have some medicines in my house and some of my daughter's clothes might fit her as well. She needs to change out of those wet ones."

Sandor rolled his eyes.

"God's, what did you think I was going to use that money for, you twat?"

"Wine and whores? It's what most of them do." He replied with a small grin, as he headed out the back door of the stables.

"Well, maybe a bit of that too." Sandor muttered to himself.

The girl continued to heave, clutching her stomach in pain.

"You alright?"

"Ugh-f-uck...fuck off." Was her reply.

 

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"A room for two?" The innkeeper handed Sandor the keys and pointed up the stairs. "Take number 5. Oh, and enjoy your night." He said, before winking in the girl's direction. Sandor gave him a dirty look and pulled her gently by the hand.

She was seeming better already. The stable man had given her something to help ease the pain in her stomach and something else too, possibly for fever. The colour was definitely coming back to her cheeks and her palms didn't feel so clammy anymore. He'd also given her dry clothes to wear: a plain robe and overcoat of his daughter's. They made her look quite unlike the squire boy she so often liked to use as her persona. The dress wasn't near as revealing as the one she'd worn to supper in the dining hall at the Eyrie, but Sandor would never be used to seeing the the little wolf in women's' clothing.

"Stay here." He told her when they reached their room.

The pup sat down one of the two small straw beds in their little room.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm getting food."

Her brow furrowed.

"Are you going to drink?" She crossed her arms and frowned.

"Gods girl, I think I liked you better when you were too sick to talk. Now you're back to asking me a thousand stupid questions a minute? No, I'm not going to drink tonight. I need to keep a proper eye on you. You'd best go to sleep. I won't be long."

"Don't be."

As Sandor went to leave, closing the door behind him, he thought he saw a look of worry cross her face.

In town, with the little money he had, Sandor bought a small loaf of bread and some meat and cheese, which he fit into a sac. It wasn't a lot of food, but it would be enough for the next few days. Maybe if the stable man had given him a proper sum for his horses, they would have enough to feed them for at least a week, but that hadn't been the case. He cursed him as he marched his way back to the inn. Even if he had bothered to help the girl because she was sick, the man was still a bloody bastard. The sun had just disappeared below the horizon and the few shops in town were starting to close up. In the fading light, he saw the outlines of two men talking to each other just outside the entrance to the inn. They were speaking loudly enough for Sandor to hear without straining his ears.

"Yeah, an I heard the Mountain's ridin from Harrenhal."

"For the Queen?"

"Yeah, 'es gonna fight for 'er whatever guy the little Imp's picked out at 'is trial. Whoever it is is gonna get 'is guts spilt. The Mountain's a big fucker, 'e is. Wouldn't wanna cross paths with him."

Sandor's breath hitched in his throat. He pulled his hood up over his face as he walked past the men through the doorway. Out of his periphery, he saw them give him a fair glance, noting his own size. His bloody monster of a brother, the Mountain, was set for King's Landing.

_Well, this changes things._

When Sandor reached their room, he knocked on the door lightly. There was no answer.What was she doing in there?

_Probably asleep._

He tried again. This time a little louder.

Still, no answer. He gave the doorknob a little twist to try and open it, but it was locked. Fuck, he remembered he'd left her with the keys.

"Girl!" He shouted through the wooden door, "Open up!"

Still, nothing.

"Shit," He muttered under his breath. She should've woken up by then. The feeling of panic began to sprout inside of his chest. He shouldn't have left her alone in the room, even for a minute. What had he been thinking?! She was sick and defenseless and he'd left her alone and unprotected. Someone could have easily taken her if they'd wanted to. The girl was a fighter under normal circumstances, but Sandor was afraid that she was just too weak in her current state to put up any sort of a fight against an attacker. She wouldn't last long. What if she was gone already? He dropped their little bag of bread and cheese and backed up to the wall before running at the door, busting it wide open with his shoulder, expecting the worst. But there she was, right there in front of him.

She reared back at the surprise of his sudden, very loud entrance, and smacked her head hard against the rim of the wash basin.

"Ow!," She cried out, partially in pain and partially in annoyance, wiping a long string of drool from her chin and bringing her other hand to rub the back of her head. "What in seven hell-"

Then her eyes grew big as she realized what had just happened and she quickly dunked herself under the surface of the water to cover herself, all the while splashing water from the tub all over the wooden floor. Sandor stood there in shock, not daring to move, just staring. True, the girl had not been taken by kidnappers and she wasn't dead or injured in any way, but she _was_ bathing. _Naked._ In a tub. And he'd seen her. Well technically, he'd only seen her breasts, but that was enough to redden his cheeks, much to his dismay. It wasn't often that breasts made him blush, nor anything really. He was a seasoned man, but for some reason he felt the uncomfortable heat rising up to his face at the notion that he'd unwittingly managed to get a peak at the wolf girl's little round teats while she'd been sleeping (and drooling) in her bath.

She popped her head up from under the water. Slick, wet, black hair sticking to the sides of her face, her hands working to cover herself as she glowered at him.

"You could knock you know." She hissed. Oh, she was feeling better alright.

"I did!"

"You could've knocked louder!!"

"I knocked twice!"

"Well I didn't fucking hear you did I?!"

"I even called at you through the bloody door!"

"Fine." She admitted, and dunked back into the water briefly before resurfacing, slicking the hair back out of her eyes. "Give me a towel."

Sandor forced himself to peel his eyes away from the sight of her, and looked around at the floor for what she'd asked. There were no towels to be found.

"Don't see one."

The girl sighed.

"Turn around and close the door."

He did.

There was splashing, footsteps, the rustling of her clothes. She shook her wet hair out like a dog and he felt a droplet of water hit the back of his neck.

"You got food?"

"That, and news."

"Hmm?"

He heard her step up to him from behind. He willed his cheeks to stop burning. Was she really fully dressed? Gods, maybe...

"You can turn around now."

Yes, yes she was.

"What's the news?"

"We're going to King's Landing."

 

**There we are finally! Sorry for the wait guys. I've been really busy lately. I hope you enjoy this chapter :)  I've written up multiple parts of different chapters and I'm going to start filling it all in soon. It gets good...I hope you think so... Til next time, -OW**


	12. Big Dipper

"How long until we get to King's Landing?"

"Ugh, please, stop asking me stupid questions. You've been talking since we bloody left this morning."

"No I haven't! And anyways, I never asked that. It's important to know. What if we don't get there until the Mountain's already fought at the trial and is on his way back? Then we're screwed! I want to kill the Mountain, you want to kill him too-"

"I promise you, you won't even be getting near that bastard. I'll be doing all the killing this time. You'll stay out of it."

"Is it because you don't think I'm a good enough killer? I can kill just fine!"

"You can kill _alright_. Getting better, learning, but not good enough for the Mountain. And besides, he's _my_ brother. I think it should be me who takes his head, not some little girl he won't even recognize."

"But-"

The Hound cut her off with a swift smack to the back of the skull.

"Ow!"

"No bloody buts about it. You'll stay out of my way. Watching me cut his ugly fucking head off his shoulders is good enough."

Arya scowled. Her head hurt. He was so mean sometimes.

"Pfft," She snorted, but she kept her eyes glued to the ground in front of her as they continued to ride on.

The sun was finally beginning to set after their long day, leaving the pair with the view of a painted sky of pinks and reds and oranges and purples all swirling together and fading into a deep blue full of twinkling stars that were slowly growing brighter and brighter as the sun disappeared below the trees. They'd left the town at first light and ridden all day long, mostly in silence. Arya didn't understand why the Hound thought she'd been jabbering to him the whole day. She hadn't really. It was just that when ever she _did_ say something, which wasn't very often at all, he would act as if she hadn't shut up in hours. As for him, the Hound had hardly spoken a word to her until now. Maybe he was tired. Or maybe he just didn't want to talk to her. Arya smirked to herself. Or _maybe_ he didn't want to talk to her because he was embarrassed for walking in on her in the bath the last night. Surely the Hound had seen naked women in his life before. What was the big deal? Arya wasn't embarrassed. Startled yes, embarrassed? ....okay, maybe she was...just a bit, but she wasn't acting like it was a big deal or anything. Because it wasn't.

"We'll stop here." He said at last, just as the last light from the sun faded and the stars shone brightly in the sky. It was a clear night. The two dismounted their horses and looked around the where they'd be sleeping for the night.

It was a small clearing, a little ways from the path. Arya could hear the sound of rushing water not far off. There was a river close by. She took out her bedroll and set it down on the ground.

"Get a fire started." The Hound ordered to her as he set his own out a few metres away from hers.

"Why don't you?" She retorted, still mad at him for smacking her head.

Arya knew she was getting under his skin by the way he breathed in sharply through his nose. It felt good.

"Shut up and do what I tell you."

She walked up to him where he was knelt over and spat on his bedroll.

_The fucker can't tell me what to do._

Because she'd been sick for the last few days, Arya felt restless with all the extra energy she suddenly had now that she was well again. For some reason, she wanted to feud. She needed a fight. She half-hoped that the Hound would pull her legs out from under her, knock the wind out of her lungs and hit her again, just so she could feel that sweet sensation of rage. But he only looked up at her, emotionless.

"Can you just start a fire, wolf girl?"

She grimaced, but obliged. She'd rather be warm than defiant tonight.

Once she'd gathered all the tinder she could find, she lit pile with the bit of flint she had in her sac. It took a little more effort this time, considering the heavy rainfall they'd had the other night, but she managed and soon they had a nice, warm fire to sit by. Arya was dry. She'd gotten new clothes to wear from the kind stable man they also sold their horses to, but she noted that the Hound's were still damp. He was sitting on his bedroll in front of the fire, quietly removing pieces of his armour. He must've been uncomfortable.

"Keep watch." He said at last, once he'd taken off the last piece and was now just wearing his undershirt and trousers. He rose up and began to walk away from the fire.

"Where are you going?" Arya asked.

"For a wash. Like I said-keep watch. I'll be back in a minute."

"Since when do you wash?"

"Since before you slimed your way out of mummy's cunt."

"I don't think that's very funny. My mother's dead."

"And you will be too in a minute if you don't stop pestering me."

"Piss off." She mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. He just laughed in response as he walked off, around a corner of bushes.

Arya waited off some minutes by staring into the fire, then she tried looking up at the stars, then she finally grew bored. What was taking him so long? She could hear him splashing around, so he was still in the river, but he had been for a while. The Hound didn't seem to take his time to enjoy much of anything, except maybe for killing, but certainly not washing up. She wanted to see what he was doing over there, but convinced herself to stay.

_He won't be that much longer._

A few more minutes went by, followed by a few more, and then some.

Finally, after what seemed like over half of an hour, Arya decided to investigate. She got up from where she sat on her bedroll, creeped over to the bush and peeked through the leaves.

He was still in the river, but he wasn't doing much of anything except standing there with his back turned to the shore. The water only came up to his waist, exposing his entire backside to the air and the light of the stars. She'd never seen him without anything to cover his top before and was surprised to see that it was covered in little silver streaks. They must've been scars. The Hound really was a big fellow, she realized. It wasn't just his armour that gave him bulk. Yes, it added to his size, but it definitely wasn't what lent him the appearance of strength and heftiness. He didn't really need to appear that way either, per se. He just was. Big and strong. When he lifted his hands to wring out his wet hair, all the muscles in his back rippled underneath the skin, tens of tiny scars reflecting the faint star light. Arya swallowed. She was careful not to make any noise while moving a pesky branch from her blocking her view. The Hound turned around then and began to walk through the water, towards the shore. So he'd finally felt like finishing up just as she'd decided to take a peek...

_Shit._

She needed to get back to the fire, but she was stuck. Any movement she made now he would surely hear, and she felt torn about leaving in any case. The front of him was equally as curious as the back, if not more so. His broad chest was also covered in small scars, but there were also a few larger ones that slashed across his well toned stomach and biceps. Arya wondered where he must've gotten them from. All the battles he'd fought. He'd served the Lannisters for years, putting his own life on the line for stupid little nobles like Joffery and Cercei and-he killed Mycah for Joffery. She'd never forgive him for that. Her brow furrowed and she frowned deeply as she remembered that day. The day that she lost one of her best friends and maybe even her first love. Not that she'd really been old enough to know, but Mycah was different than the others. Just like Gendry had been different-back in the brotherhood. She knew that much at least. And the Hound had taken him from her. No, she'd never forgive him for that. She was going to kill him for it some day.

"What the fuck?!" She heard him shout from behind her. He'd gotten dressed and gone back to the fire while she was still wrapped in her thoughts. Arya seized up. He would know she'd been watching him. She didn't have any excuses, except for saying she had to pee, but hiding in the bushes to do that? He'd know.

"I thought I told you to stay and keep watch!"

_I did, but you were taking so long!_

"Where the fuck are you?!"

_Here._

"Seven fucking hells...get your arse out of the goddamn bushes, wolf girl."

Arya sheepishly stepped out from the cover of the leaves. Now she was embarrassed. But the Hound didn't look particularly angry, just surprised. His eyebrows raised up and he crossed his hulking arms in front of his chest as she made her way back from the darkness into the firelight.

"You were watching me." He said, glaring down at her from his great height.

"Only because you were taking such a fucking long time."

"And you couldn't keep watch like I told- _asked_ you to for a few more minutes?"

"Look, I didn't know what you were doing, okay?"

"I bloody told you that I was going to wash."

"....sorry."

The Hound's face softened for the first time that day. He let his arms fall to his sides and sighed.

"Sit down." He said, gesturing to Arya's bedroll. She obeyed, thankful that he wasn't as angry with her as she thought he would be. An hour ago she would have been happy to challenge him, but now she was too tired, and on top of that, her tummy felt rather odd as well. All knotted and bunched up. She wasn't in the mood for fighting anymore. The Hound laid down on his own bedroll and rolled onto his back before speaking.

"Why were you watching me?"

"I already said, I wanted to see what you were doing."

"No, you said that you _didn't know_. Not knowing and wanting to see are very different things."

"Well, whatever, I was bored."

He chuckled then.

"Think of it as payback for yesterday."

"I wasn't spying on you."

"I don't care."

A silence passed between the two of them for a moment before Arya spoke again.

"Hey,"

"What." The Hound turned over to look at her, his face hard again. "I was just about to fall asleep."

"I was going to ask how they managed to knock you out, back at the Eyrie. You were passed out cold on the back of that horse. How'd they do it? Poison your wine?"

"They didn't give me any wine."

"Well, then how'd they manage? They all just beat the shit out of you until you blacked out and then hauled you out the door?"

"No."

"Then what? You can obviously fight at least seven full grown men on your own."

"You mean seven whimpering little shits?"

"Okay, tell me."

"Littlefinger's full of dirty tricks. He just used one of them on me."

Arya's face contorted into a deep frown. What in the world was he talking about?

"Why aren't you telling me?"

"Because you don't need to know."

"Gods, it was a simple fucking question."

"That you don't want the answer to. Now, go to sleep."

_Seven hells. Of course he did. Slimy fucking Littlefinger._

"He got Sansa to do it, didn't he..."

The Hound clicked his teeth and rolled back over, turning his back to her.

"Yes," He replied. "Now go to sleep."

 

**Hey! Thanks again for reading, everyone! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter :) As always, reviews, suggestions, and constructive criticism is welcome. Cheers! -OW**


	13. The Sansa Chapter

Sansa's heart beat wildly in her chest as she stalked the empty halls of the Eyrie. It was early morning. When she'd awoken, Ayra had already fled. The feeling of dread and regret engulfed her whole at knowing she was really to do as she'd promised to Petyr the night before. She was betraying her sister and, if they were ever to see each other again, Arya would never forgive her for it. It pained Sansa to know that.

She was dressed only in a nightgown and a thin coat that she wore to cover herself and keep warm for the cold morning as she made her way to the Hound's chambers, cursing herself for every step she took.

_"Sansa, I promise I won't let him hurt you. You have to trust me. All you have to do is pretend. It's that simple."_

Petyr could be so convincing. He made her feel absolutely assured when he spoke to her in his calm demeanor and honey-sweet, smooth voice, but he wasn't there to talk her out of her fear now that she was more afraid than ever. Sansa would need to act quickly and she would need to lie well enough for him not to notice. She felt around in her pocket until she touched something hard and sighed in relief, gripping it tightly with her delicate hand.

_It's okay. Everything's going to be alright._

Once she arrived at the doors to the Hound's chambers, she drew in a deep breath and shivered.

_Calm down. Everything's going to be alright. You want him. Remember-you want him. Just pretend._

She knocked softly on the hard wood and waited for him to answer, shifting nervously on her feet. Moments later, the door opened but a small crack and a sliver of scarred flesh and an eye peeked out at her through it.

"Little bird," He said in surprise, and opened the door fully, stepping back to let her inside. "What are you doing here?"

She hesitated a moment, then entered.

"I-I wanted to come see you..." She explained, nearly choking on her words as she tried to speak to the grim-faced giant who was staring down at her intently.

A lie.

He narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe her. Gods, she was dead already. She fidgeted around in her pocket. She needed to act now.

"Why?"

He sounded suspicious.

Sansa feigned a smile and urged herself to step closer to him.

"...I wanted to thank you for bringing my sister back to me."

"But, you already did." It was obvious that the Hound wanted her to leave, but it didn't make sense. Petyr had said that he would be easy to convince. She swallowed.

"I know, but I wanted to thank you again." She said, playing with the buttons on her small coat in what she hoped was a satisfactorily seductive way. The Hound furrowed his brow, clearly noticing her hands as they slowly undid the top button. It took everything she had not to cringe.

"Well, you're welcome." He said coolly. "But you don't have to stick around."

_Doesn't he want this?_

"No, you don't understand....I want to _thank you_."

Sansa shuddered, feeling an intense heat rise up to her face and a pounding in her head as she undid the buttons of her petticoat, revealing her scantly clad form to him, her body just barely covered by the thin layer of her nightgown, hair unbrushed, nipples erect from the cold. She blushed at the thought of what she must've looked like. Like some painted whore, eager to sell her body to the nearest passerby for extra coin. Someone like the Hound wouldn't be one to shy away from the offer, she was sure, being the type of man he was. So why wasn't he taking it now? He ran a hand through his thick brown hair and sat down on the bed, shaking his head. Did he not want to touch her? This isn't what Petyr told her would happen.

"You should go." He said at last, with his eyes cast down at his own feet. This isn't what was supposed to happen.

"I-I can't."

Sansa felt her hands begin to shake. She needed to do this. She couldn't leave. The Hound looked up at her with a pained expression on his face, and swore under his breath. "Sansa," he began, rising up once more from the bed, but suddenly, as if he were prepared to fight off an enemy. She flinched. In all the years she'd known him, the Hound had never stopped frightening her. Even now, it was difficult for her to look upon his marred face."Why are you doing this?"

"Because...I want you?"

Another lie.

His face contorted into a harsh grimace.

" _You_ want me."

"Yes."

Sansa stepped forward, forcing herself to draw nearer to him, but her own feet refused to cooperate. She stumbled. The Hound came to her, and searched to meet her wandering eyes with his own. It was hard to make herself do so. The angry scar on the right side of his face was just too unnatural, too beastly, too cruel for her to stand.

"Gods Little bird, you can barely stand the sight of me. You expect me to believe that?" He scoffed.

"Please...Sandor."

His real name felt strange on her tongue.

"Just kiss me."

And his tongue felt strange in her mouth. His lips felt strange on her lips. They didn't belong there, just as his hands didn't belong around her slender waist, pulling her tightly to him as he kissed her deeply. As she let him. And his cock pressing itself firmly against her abdomen, his arousal growing by the second. It didn't belong there either.

It was all wrong.

Sansa reached once again into her pocket, pulling out what was inside. She said a silent prayer to the gods, hoping to the heavens that the dart had enough poison in it to knock him out quickly, and stuck it into his neck with all her might.

_I'm sorry Arya. I'm so sorry._

He groaned in surprise, and brought a hand up to feel where she'd stabbed him, meeting her own wide eyes with a look of shock and pain and -though Sansa could barely believe it-maybe even sadness, before collapsing on top of her like a ton of bricks.

 

**Again, thanks to everyone for reading and for all your support! This chapter was surprisingly quite hard to write. I wanted to make it short but sweet, but that ended up being more difficult to do than anticipated. ;) I hope you enjoyed this one! -OW**


	14. Fellow Travelers

It was the sound of howling that woke Sandor from his slumber. For a moment he tensed, thinking of the possibility that a hungry pack of wolves may have picked up their scent and were now surrounding the camp, but he was soon reassured that the only wolf around was the Stark girl wailing in her sleep. When he turned to face her, she was tossing and turning about on her bed roll, pink-faced and sweating. She'd had nightmares before, he knew, but it was rare that they were ever bad enough to cause her to moan and howl like she was. He sighed and sat up. It would be impossible to get back to sleep with her like this. The moon hung low above them, a sign that it was nearly morning and Sandor wouldn't have to wait too long before the sun rose and the girl followed suit. For a moment, he considered waking her then, but the thought of the aftermath was worse than the thought of having to see the girl squirm for another hour or two, so he sat and waited. She let out a sharp cry, slamming her fists hard on the ground beside her, harshly twisting her body in on itself.

"Let go of me!" She cried out one last time before letting out a long breath, loosening her hands slightly on the patches of grass she gripped. She was calming down. Sandor praised the gods for his luck. Laying back down on his bedroll, he glanced over at the dreaming girl and saw that she had relaxed considerably; a look of peace had come to settle on her flushed features. It wasn't often that she seemed at peace during her waking hours and he wondered what rested in her mind then.

 

  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_The girl peered at him over her shoulder, smiling coyly as she pulled down the strap of her thin slip, revealing to him the milky smooth skin of her back._

_The sound of wolves howling in the distance, the only sound to be heard, and the stars shone brightly above them there in the forest. There was no one else in sight and no fire, only the stars._

_The girl darted behind a tree, laughing mischievously as she fluttered out of his reach. He would catch her eventually he knew, but every time he moved close enough to her he hesitated. What he wanted and what she wanted were one in the same, but there was something wrong. He sensed it._

_She appeared again from behind another grand tree, a look of confusion on her brow. She was speaking to him, and though he could hear nothing but the howling of wolves, he knew the words she spoke._

_"Aren't you going to chase me?" She was saying, "Are you coming?"_

_He moved towards her, wanting to reach out. As he came closer, a radiant smile touched her lips for only a moment before her face darkened like the sky. And then she screamed, pushing him away._

_"Fuck you, stupid bastard!! I'll kill you! Let go of me! LET GO OF ME!!! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!_

Wake up."

Sandor gasped, sitting up sharply. The wolf bitch was crouched close beside him with her little sword in her hand. She pointed a finger to the surrounding forest.

"Someone out there." She muttered quietly, "Keep your voice down."

It was true. The pair waited in silence for some time before they heard the sound of voices some thirty paces off from camp. One woman, one man. Their voices were not hushed and their boots were loud as they romped through the woods, leading horses along he supposed, as there were too many pairs of feet for just two people. The wolf-girl turned her gaze from the forest edge to meet his eyes.

"What should we do?" She whispered, distressed, biting her lower lip.

Sandor swallowed a breath of air.

"Just keep still and wait until they pass." He hissed.

"Hello?" A woman's voice called out in their direction. The footsteps had stopped.

_Shit._

The girl froze.

She leaned closer and murmured in his ear, her warm breath tickling his skin. "What should we do now?"

Sandor mouthed the words shut up. The woman called out again, this time with more conviction.

"Hello! I know you're there. You don't have to worry. We're not going to harm you, I swear it."

The footsteps headed towards the pair as the travelers were now convinced of their whereabouts it seemed and the wolf girl stood up abruptly, though Sandor yanked her down again and caused her to fall back on her arse. Unfortunately, they'd been spotted and keeping out of view would be no use now. He swore under his breath and shot her a scowl. She shrugged in reply as if to say _"What's the harm in it?"._

_You could've been shot through the eye for starters._

But before long, Sandor stood up as well to meet the pair of travelers who were making there way over, pulling their horses along with them. The woman, short-haired, blonde, nearly tall as he, and clad in armour, halted and waved a cautious hand in greeting. Following her came a bumbling foolish looking fellow who was leading both their horses, one rein in each hand, tripping over branches and rocks every which way as he walked towards them.

"Hello there." She called, "Good day to you."

Sandor said nothing. The pup pulled herself up from the ground, rubbing her backside gently.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The woman smiled brightly and advanced a few steps before Sandor brought a hand to the hilt of his sword, warning her to keep her distance. He wasn't going to take any risks today. She paused and frowned.

"Good day to you, fellow travelers. My name is Brienne and this," She said, gesturing to the stumbling dark haired boy behind her, "This is Podrick. We're wondering, how much further to the Bloody Gates? Have you come from that direction?"

Sandor and the girl exchanged a look for a brief moment. She spoke first.  
  
"Why?"

It was then that Brienne's eyes widened and she took another step forward.

"You're Arya Stark aren't you?" She sputtered, pointing a gloved hand at the girl.

"How do you-"

"And you, you're the Hound."

Sandor unsheathed his sword, preparing to fight.

"Stay close girl." He ordered. She disobeyed, as she always did, and stepped right in between him and the armoured woman.

"How do you know me?" She asked.

"I've been sent out to find you and your sister and bring you to safety."

"Where in seven hells in safe?"

Brienne threw her hands up in the air in protest.

"Look here, I didn't come to fight. Let's start over. Where are you two headed?" She nodded to Sandor, giving him an odd look before returning her attention to the pup.

"We don't know." She lied.

"Well," Brienne smiled politely, "We just passed an inn. We can head in that direction and chat over a proper meal. What do you and your-uh- _friend_ think of that?"

"....fine."

 

 

**Sorry it's been so long since the last update, but I finally did it!  I also apologize for the shameful length of this chapter.  I feel like you deserve more for waiting this long!  I promise the next will be longer...**

**-OW**


	15. The Good Side

"So,"  The lady Brienne slammed down four heavy mugs of ale on the table.  Arya snuck a brief glance at the Hound, seeing his eyes widen considerably at the sight.  They'd already gotten a free meal with enough to take with them.  Chicken and pies and fresh bread too.  The Hound had been difficult to persuade, but he couldn't say no to a free meal and certainly not to free ale.  She couldn't help a smirk.  "Drink up then.  We've got a lot of talking to do."

Tentatively, she reached out to take a mug. Her father had never allowed her to drink in Winterfell and never gotten the chance while on the road. When she took her first sip, she shivered. It was disgusting. Placing it back on the table, she looked over at her companion once again to see him drain almost his entire cup with one big gulp. Brienne and Podrick drank theirs sparingly.

"Alright, I'll start,"  Said the Hound at last, after letting out a belch, "What the fuck do you want?"

Brienne paused, then placed her hands atop the table and sighed. 

"My name is Brienne of Tarth.  Myself and my squire Podrick Payne have been ordered to seek out the Stark sisters and bring them to safety-"

"You've said that already."

"I'm not quite finished.  Some time ago," She continued, shifting her gaze to Arya. "...some time ago I was your mother's sworn sword.  I lived my life to guard and protect her.  She was an admirable woman and I will forever be proud to have made her acquaintance.  I am very sorry for your loss and I am sorry I wasn't able to protect her on the night of her death.  I was commanded by her to bring Jaime back to King's Landing in exchange for you and the Lady Sansa , but when we finally reached-"

"I wasn't there." Arya swallowed back tears, remembering a fading vision her mother's face and the sound of her voice.  Her mother, whom she would never see again.  

"When we reached our destination, you weren't there.  So, I was ordered by...by a friend of the Starks to find you and your sister and take you somewhere safe.  I will live and fight for you, Arya Stark, and I will die for you if I must."

An uncomfortable silence swept over the table as Arya shifted in her seat.  Sitting beside her, she could sense the Hound's own disapproval at the mention of the names   _Jaime Lannister_ and King's Landing, and was undoubtedly coming to she same conclusion that she had.  A friend of the Starks in King's Landing?  There was something the Lady Brienne wasn't telling them.  Unfortunately, her companion, drunk and stupid as he was, took it into his own hands to try and abrogate the situation.  He took one last swig of his mug of ale and shoved the remaining chicken and bread on the table into his sac. 

"Well," He started, "I can say I've had enough of this horse shite-"  But before he was able to continue, Pordrick spoke up suddenly in an urgent tone.

"Brienne, it's Lady Sansa," He hissed.

Brienne stiffened. So did Arya. Podrick's eyes were focused on a table behind them.

"Don't turn around."

_Fuck._

"She's dyed her hair, but it's her."

The Hound slouched in his seat and tried to get a glance out of the corner of his eye, his hood pulled up over his head. Arya nudged him to give her an answer. He nodded in reply.

_Fuck._

"Look, it's great to meet you, the both of you," Arya said to Brienne and Pod, while frantically trying to scoop any food that was still on the table into her own small sac as the Hound had done. "-but we really should be going-"

"Wait!" Brienne stood up abruptly, which caught the attention of everyone sitting around them. Arya turned around at the table of interest, immediately locking eyes with her sister, and felt a pang of sadness, followed by anger. Sansa just stared back in utter shock and surprise. Arya could've sworn her face was reddening. It was then that she noticed who sat beside her. Littlefinger. And he'd seen her too. She reached a hand out to grab the Hound's cloak, pulling him down to her level.

"We have to go." she said.

"Seven hells Arya, we just sat down to eat!"  Brienne whined loudly.  Too loudly.  Now, nearly everyone in the place was eyeing them up, wearing looks of irritation and mild curiosity on their faces.  They probably didn't get much action down this way, Arya thought.  

_Well, this is certainly the kind of day for that..._

A couple of the men that had previously been guarding Sansa and Peytr's table were now quickly moving towards her and the Hound, who had drawn his sword and was ready to fight. As the first one lunged, even in his drunken state, the Hound did not hesitate with the blade and plunged it deep into the man's belly, drawing from him a pained groan and a bloody, bubbly cough as he collapsed dead on the ground. This bought them enough time to make their exit. Arya took one last glance at her sister as she ran for the door, and cursed her under her breath.

Outside, the horses were tied up in a row. She recognized her own and cut the rope that fastened his bridle to the post. Grabbing his scruff, she hoisted herself up to mount, but she slipped and fell down into the mud.

"Fuck!" She shouted in frustration and quick as she could, tried to mount again, but was too short and now covered in mud and was unable to lift herself onto Craven without slipping back. Two hard hands grabbed her suddenly and lifted her by the waist onto the back of the horse.

"You've got to get better at that." Said the Hound, before mounting his own. A different horse. A black one. It didn't take Arya long to realize that it was Stranger. One of Petyr's men must've rode him all the way down from the Eyrie, although she had no idea how anyone could manage to ride a beast like that. Stranger reared up on his hind legs as more men began to pour out from the back door of the tavern, attempting to surround them. The Hound, wielding his greatsword, swung it effortlessly through the air, separating a man's head clean from his body. Arya snapped the reins on Craven and took off down the rode with the Hound following close behind. Out of her periphery she could see men mounting their horses, preparing to chase them down, shouting at each other. A smile escaped her lips and then a laugh.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

The remainder of the afternoon was passed in silence until the pair stopped to make camp in a denser part of the forest. Arya started a fire while the Hound went to tie their horses. It wasn't long before the sky darkened and they were seated on their bedrolls, staring blankly at the flames. She opened her bag and pulled out a thick slice of bread to eat. Taking a large bite, she shifted her gaze to him. He caught her eyes with his own.

"Why didn't you do with that blonde bitch?" He asked at last, leaning onto his back.

Arya shrugged. He turned his ruined side away from the fire to look off into the woods, his unmarred side catching the firelight. She rarely took notice of the fact that he was really quite a handsome man, even despite the scar. She looked down at her feet.

"She would've been a bit better to travel with, don't you reckon?"  He continued, "Bit more _discreet_.  People know me around here."

  
"I'm going to King's Landing. And you're the only one who can get me there."

"What, so you can kill the bloody Queen and my own fucking brother? Seven hells girl, what makes you think _you_ could even get close to either one?"

"There are other people I can kill."

"Like _who_?"  He scoffed with a sharp laugh.

"Illyn Payne, Meryn Trant...Tywin Lannister-"

"HA! Tywin Lannister! That's a bloody laugh. You're a brave one girl, but goddamn foolish to think you'll ever get close to that shit-breathed bastard."

"It's the best chance I'll ever get to fix what they destroyed." She said. A silence passed over them before the Hound spoke again.

"Don't throw your own life away just so you can take someone else's whose isn't even worth shit to start with."

Arya felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach and a flush in her cheeks. He didn't mean that. She laid back onto her bedroll and rolled over, facing away from the fire.

"Don't tell me how to live my life."

"You're a stubborn little cunt."

 

 

  
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Arya's breath stuck like honey in her throat. She watched and waited in silence from afar behind the trunk of the large oak tree. If she needed to, there was a chance she could scramble up the branches, but even that was unlikely. The lowest branch was at least two feet above her head. She heard a noise from behind her like the cracking of a small twig, and reeled around, sword at the ready. A rough hand quickly covered her mouth and shoved her back against the trunk.

"Fuck girl, it's only me." the Hound hissed. Arya sighed in relief as he released her from his grip. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably. She turned around to look again at the large brown bear that was busy turning over rocks and fallen trees, trying to find whatever he could that was edible at their camp. To awaken in the dead of night to the sound of a large, hungry animal crashing through the bush was certainly not a high point in their travels. They'd been stupid for not burying their scraps far enough away from camp, and now they were suffering for it.  
  
"Not a bright one is he..." The Hound mumbled from behind her. Leaning over, placing a hand above her shoulder, he bent to whisper in her ear. "But he's got a great sense of smell. Think I should bring his head with us once we've gutted him out?"

Arya shivered. She could sense his body close behind hers, trapping her in between him and the tree. For a moment, she could hear no sound except the one of her own heartbeat.

"You're cruel." She said in response, watching the bear lumbering lazily around the camp. "Wait until it leaves. And anyways, you don't want to kill yourself."

"How sweet of the lady to care for my wellbeing."

"Oh bugger off. If anything happens to you, I'm fucked."

He chuckled. Why was he being such a piss-off?

"So you're admitting it."

"Admitting what?!" She snarled a little too loudly and a hand clamped over her mouth for the second time that night.

"Shut the fuck up." He growled, his scratchy beard grazing against her bare cheek. Arya let out a whimper when he shook her and slammed her into the body of the tree.

_What is wrong with you!?_

"Ow! Fuck, be gentle." She rubbed the spot on her arm that had been scraped by its rough bark.

"Is that what you want?"

A cold shock ran up her spine in reaction to the touch of a hand brushing down her side and slipping underneath her shirt.

_Gods, what is he doing?_

The strange tension in the air was palpable. Not another word escaped either of their lips. Arya's pulse quickened as the Hound's cool armour pressed into her backside and she nearly dropped to her knees, her legs beginning to shake. His ragged breath she could feel on the back of her of neck, her own becoming more and more shallow each time she struggled to inhale. The brown bear at the camp seemed almost a world away and it was as though it was only her and the quiet darkness. Her and the darkness and cool hands under the cover of her jerkin, fingers searching for the buckle of her trousers, a chest heavily resting on her back, making it impossible for her escape. She cursed herself for not fighting him.

_Gods, what am I doing?_

Against her own will, Arya let a small sigh escape her lips. She relaxed a little, letting herself ease back into the plates of his armour. In return, he gripped her tightly from behind, taking her cue. It wasn't Arya who helped him undo her belt. It wasn't Arya who quietly moaned when one of his hands slipped in, underneath the cover of her smallclothes and touched her where he never had before. Arya was gone. A terrifyingly sweet sensation filled her from the bottom up as his fingers began to rub into her sensitive place, spreading her growing wetness all over the insides of her thighs. She braced herself on the trunk of the tree with one weak hand while the other desperately clung onto the forearm that was wrapped around her stomach. She could barely keep from crying out in agonizing pleasure and took it upon herself to cover her own mouth just to make sure she didn't. Harder and harder he pressed and circled, his thick fingers sliding into her as far as they would go until the pressure was too much to handle. Something inside her broke open, sending wave after wave of toe-curling ecstasy throughout her body and she fell forward against the hard wood, her muscles succeeding into spasms.

It seemed like forever until the Hound finally spoke.

"It looks like he's leaving." He stated at last. Arya said nothing in reply, still leaning against the body of the oak, catching her breath. Then the sound of breaking leaves and footsteps, and she was alone again.

_Stubborn little cunt._

  
**Yes! There we go! Finally got a bit of smut in there...I hope you liked it and the odd circumstances surrounding. I'm really excited to be writing this again. It's been way too long.**  
**Enjoy!**  
**-OW**

 


	16. Questions

_Oh fuck_ , was the first thought that came to Sandor's mind when he woke that morning. His memory was not very forgiving, and the last night's events came swiftly back to him the moment he opened his bleary eyes and spied the girl across the way, still asleep and leaning back up against a tree. This was not good. No, this was very bad. He couldn't explain it; what came over him last night he could not understand. She was just standing there, not doing much of anything, but she was just so close to him and the feeling of her soft skin on his hands, the feeling of her arse pressing into his-

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stop it. Stop thinking about it. And with the fucking bear? What were you thinking you dumb shit?_

Sandor laid there for a while, unsure of what to do. Should he wait until she woke up? Should he get the horses ready? Should he say anything at all? Nothing came easy for him. His rational thoughts seemed to be stuck somewhere in the back of his mind, or up his butt for all he knew, and all he could really do was sit and watch her until she finally began to stir.

She didn't see him for the longest time, or maybe she was just pretending she couldn't. It would be understandable if she was. The girl took time to stretch out her back and her legs, which were probably cramped up. She certainly didn't look comfortable leaning against that tree and was most likely quite sore. Sandor swallowed. He would have to get up and say something soon. They had to get moving if they wanted to make it to King's Landing on time.

_Get on with it already._

After what seemed like minutes, Sandor finally got up to his feet. The girl noticed him right away and froze immediately and he could see a redness spreading over her cheeks. So, she hadn't been pretending not to see him after all. She quickly turned away from him and started in the direction of the camp, crashing clumsily through the thick brush, not bothering him a word. That was good, he supposed. Not talking was good.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

"Are we going to talk at some point today?" The wolf girl called out to him from behind as they rode their horses out of the woods and into the open space of the flat lands. He'd hoped not, but then again, he figured they would have to eventually, and King's Landing was still days away. She trotted her horse up beside him and eyed him expectantly. Sandor glanced in her direction briefly before he turned his eyes to the path ahead, intentionally avoiding her gaze.

"We'll reach King's Landing in five-days time if we move fast enough." He replied.

She was quiet for a moment.

"I'm hungry."

What the fuck was she going on about? They'd eaten two full meals the day before; it was the most they had eaten in a day in months.

"For fucks sakes, girl. If you don't stop complaining, I'll knock you off that damned horse and hope you break your arm. Now, shut up and keep quiet until we can find a good place to stop and set up camp."

  
She grumbled something to herself as she fell back to ride behind him and he turned around to scowl at her.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

She was doing it on purpose, to bother him. 

"Damnit girl, you really know exactly how to get under my skin don't you."

At that, she cocked an eyebrow and gave him a half-smirk.  Something about that look.  Like she was telling him to go wank himself off with her eyes.  His palms grew sweaty inside his gloves and he turned back to face ahead.

_Gods above..._

Only five more days of this and then he would be free of her. Only five more days of her incessant chattering and whining and then he would finally be at peace. That was it, Sandor thought, he was going to take her to King's Landing and she could sort the rest out for herself when they got there. He'd done her a favour by taking her this far. The wolf bitch was tough enough to get along without him.

_So long, cunt._

_Cunt._

_Ugh, shut the fuck up._

_She's probably still a maiden, you know..._

_I said shut up._

 

 

_  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

 

 

"We'll pitch here." Sandor swiftly descended from Stranger and peered around at the spot where they would make camp. It wasn't exactly the greatest location. They were more out in the open than he would have liked, but the sun was quickly disappearing beneath the horizon and the pair had no other options. They were nestled in between a scattering of large boulders and would be partially shielded from any passersby at best. The cover of darkness would give them some protection, but there would be no fire. The wolfling hopped down from her horse and unbagged him before she coaxed him to lie down on the grass. Sandor did the same and laid out his bedroll on the ground. A cold gust of wind blew across the land, chilling him slightly and he saw the girl shiver as she bent down to sit on her bed. The nights were getting colder. _  
_

"You should have taken a blanket from Sansa." He said.

_Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind one right about now either._

"Shut up about Sansa."

Something in her voice told him not to continue. Their little altercation with Littlefinger's men the day before must have gotten to her more than he thought. Maybe she hated her sister now, after what he told her. Sandor knew what that was like. He said nothing more and they both remained silent, staring off into the darkening sky. He could only barely make out the outline of her fading shape as she sat still, there across from him. The moon was waxing and would have been visible if it weren't for the heavy cloud coverage that evening that made it nearly impossible for Sandor to see the girl shift onto her back after some time had passed. He could hear her breathing softly, drifting off to sleep.

"Hound."

Sandor opened his eyes and turned over on his bedroll. He'd thought her to be sleeping this whole time.

"What. You'd better have a damn good reason for waking me up."

"You weren't sleeping." She stated matter-of-factly. She was right. Far from it in fact.

"What is it? What are you bugging me about now?"

"I want to ask you something."

"Go on."

Deep breath.

"Is there another reason why you hate your brother so much? I mean, you were only kids when _that_ happened...you never just got over it?"

Sandor flinched. It wasn't a question he ever expected from her. Especially not now that...

"Girl, why do you always have to ask me these sorts of things right before we get to bed?" He replied with a sigh, but decided to continue on. "There are plenty of reasons why I hate my brother, reason number one being the fact that he's a massive cunt. He's the bloody reason why I was never knighted. Never wanted to associate myself with the title ever since he started prancing around as "Ser" Gregor."

"What's reason number two?" She sounded genuinely curious.

"Reason number two is my fucking face. I'm tired, wolf girl. Let me sleep."

There was no reply and he soon drifted into dreaming.

 

 

  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

_"Father?"_

_"Son." His father answered, peering down from the head of the table, irritation resonating through his deep voice. His older brother glanced up at him from his bowl of soup and widened his eyes in jest, shadows dancing across his face from the flickering of the small candle sitting in between them. Almost nothing good ever came out of addressing father, especially not a mealtimes._

_"Son."_

_Again, Theamus Clegane repeated himself, glaring at his youngest son with deep-set, beady black eyes. Sandor hesitated. Maybe he shouldn't mention it...no, he had already interrupted supper. There was nothing else he could do._

_"Where's Dyphne?" He asked. His father furrowed his protruding brow and frowned. He didn't recognize the name._

_"Who the fuck's that?"_

_Gregor stifled a chuckle before scooping himself another spoonful of soup._

_"She cleans the kitchen. Sometimes takes the plates. I haven't seen her lately."_

_"Well, I don't know who the fuck any Dyphne is, but there are plenty of people to do both those things around here, so I frankly don't give a damn. Eat."_

_Sandor turned his gaze back to his bowl and dipped a large chunk of bread into the warm liquid. It wasn't long before his brother spoke up._

_"I thought I saw her out by the stables the other day."_

_When Sandor looked up at him, Gregor had gone back to eating quietly, as if he'd said nothing at all, though a small smile played at the corners of his lips._

 

**Whooop! Chapter 16. Wow, I never expected it to get this long! Good news everyone: I pretty much know exactly where this story is going, but I'm not telling ;) You'll just have to wait. As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please give me feedback. What did you like? What didn't you like? Let me know!**   
**-OW**

 

 

 


	17. Sandor's Little Friend

Sansa's stomach twisted and turned over and over again. She tried to pass the time by staring out the window of their small coach moving along the road to Winterfell, but found that the crisp-northern air was just too cold for her sensitive skin. The road ahead of them was long yet. She let out a sigh. Could nothing remedy this horrible feeling in her gut? Ever since that morning, things hadn't felt right. In fact, things felt so very wrong that she couldn't even bear to speak to Peytr without choking on her own words. The truth of her actions hadn't really sunken in until he'd noticed her sister's absence, the mention of which nearly caused Sansa to burst into tears. She was a traitor, a terrible sister. And the look that Arya had given her when they'd crossed paths there at the old tavern...it couldn't be understood as anything other than a look of hatred. Her little sister hated her. She hated her, and Sansa deserved it.

"How are you, my dear child?" Peytr gently inquired, shaking her out of her careless daydream. The tone of his voice implied worry. He cared for her, that much she could tell, but he certainly had a funny way of showing it. Where they were going now; it was hard to see how he could protect her at all.

"Oh Peytr, I don't know what to feel," She replied, shaking her head. "I betrayed her. She must despise me now."

"You did what needed to be done, Sansa. In life, often the hardest things we have to do end up being the best things for us. The guilt will pass."

"Will it?"

"Forget about her. She's dead to you now...and a new life lays ahead. You'll be safe where we're going. I promise you."

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_The air had grown cold with the coming night. Sandor remembers waiting there for ages under the old foot bridge and the sound of the wind in the trees. He remembers how dark it had been and knowing how his father would beat him if he discovered his absence. He also remembers having an itchy ass. So many times they would meet there and he never liked how wet the ground was, them being so close to the river. But that's what they'd decided, so that was where they met._

_At last, a figure slipped nimbly underneath the bridge and came to sit beside him on the damp grass. "_

_Sorry I'm late." She said._

_"It's okay. I didn't wait long."_

_"Good."_

_"I brought you something."_

_He reached into the bag beside him and pulled out the cookie he'd been saving. To his dismay it was broken and half of it was in crumbs, sitting in the bottom of his sac. He felt bad instantly._

_"It broke. I'm sorry."_

_"Don't worry yourself." She replied, "Is it a cookie? I don't care if it's broke. Doesn't change the taste."_

_"Yeah. Here. Hold your hand out."_

_"Thanks."_

_A moment of companionable silence passed, save the sound of muted crunching as she chewed. Sandor reached a hand down to touch his bottom. It was soaking wet._

_"Why do we come here?" He asked._

_"Because I like it here. And Teyss would never check here if she ever went looking for me. It's a good hiding spot. Too bad it's so cold. If it was warmer, we could go swimming."_

_"Yeah, I guess you're right."_

_Sandor leaned back against the cool stone. These nights were always his favourites, wet arse or dry._

_"I like you, Sandor." She said, poking his arm with a little finger. "You're nice. You always bring me nice things."_

_He smiled._

_"I like you too."_

_"Are you going to be lord of this place one day?"_

_"Probably not. Gregor's older than me, so father will probably give it to him."_

_"Oh, well, I hope he doesn't. I don't like Gregor very much and I think you'd make a way better lord than him. If you ever are, I could be your lady...if you'd like."_

_"Yes, I'd like that_." 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sandor was sure they were going the right way. More than sure. He caught their bearings each day, and every night that the stars were out to assure that this was the case. Since they were not following the straight path, they hadn't passed any of the typical landmarks one would expect to see on the road to King's Landing. It was annoying having to take the long way around, but they were quite a conspicuous pair and Sandor didn't want to risk getting themselves into more trouble than what was ideal. There was enough trouble ahead as it was. He knew they were heading the right way, which is why when they spotted the lake just over the hill, he ground his teeth together so forcefully he thought they might shatter. This was the icing on top of the cake. And, just like that, four more days turned into five. The gods' gift to Sandor for doing such a good job of protecting the girl-he'd get to spend a whole other day with her while they went around the lake. And it was only midday.

_Seven hells._

He peered back at the little wolf on her horse, riding along behind him, eyes straight ahead and as serious as ever. Sandor could count the number of times he'd seen her smile in earnest on one hand, which was even less than he could say for Tywin-fucking-Lannister. Cold as Valaryan steel she was. Cold as the Northern wind. But there was something different about the way she looked today that he couldn't put his finger on. It was something about the way she moved as the horse trotted along over the bumpy terrain, like something _extra_...and then he noticed it. Her bloody chest. It was fucking bouncing. He'd completely forgotten that the young wolf was even in possession of teats. She always did such a good job of keeping them hidden from view. An unwanted image of the naked wolfling dozing in her wash basin suddenly entered his mind and he tried his best to shut it out. This was not the time for runaway thoughts.

"You see that lake?" Sandor said to her once she finally caught up to him and came to a halt at the top of the hill. The girl snorted. He took a swig of water from his wineskin and wished that it were wine.

"Yeah, I can definitely see the lake right in front of us." She mocked.

"Quit being such a fucking mouth-off."

She made a face at him and began her descent down the other side of the hill.

_Snide bitch._

"Left or right?" She called out behind her.

Sandor tapped Stranger with the heel of his boot and followed the girl down.

"Right."

At least they could take a dip in the lake. The weather was quite permitting. Sandor took a deep breath. Maybe he'd wash his filthy clothes. Maybe she would too.

 

**So, there we are. Another chapter is finished! I hope it was to your liking and I hope to update soon. These guys are so much fun to write and I'm really getting into writing about Sandor's past as well. I think there's a lot of uncharted territory there that could be mapped out. I'm just going off on a limb here, trying to put some sense into his and Gregor's relationship. As always, suggestions are very welcome. Until next time!**   
**-OW**

 

 


	18. Five Days to King's Landing

Arya wasn't exactly sure how she felt. Sure, there was still that particular, ever-present lingering air of contempt that the two held especially for each other, that undertone of mockery that never really went away, but there was something else there now. It was something that was obvious to her and something that she was sure the Hound was well aware of too; a kind of uneasy tension as a result of the events that had unfolded some nights prior. She'd tried to break it multiple times by breaking the accompanying silence, but breaking the silence didn't really do much. If anything, it just seemed to make everything worse. The Hound didn't seem to feel the same about it because he'd barely spoken a word without prompting from her and, truth be told, it was driving her nuts. Of course Arya felt awkward. The situation was awkward, it was insane, but they were still days away from King's Landing and that was certainly something worth trying to alleviate the tension for. Or maybe she was just trying to for herself. Anything to stop herself from replaying the events over and over again in her head, every hour spent in silence made excruciatingly long because of it. The woozy knot in her belly had been there for two days straight, tightening ruthlessly every time she bothered to look at him and his stupid face. The fucking Hound. Shameless bastard. She was sick of him and couldn't wait to reach their destination so that she could finally slit his sorry throat and be on her way to bigger and better things. Anything would be better that traveling in vice-like silence with a man who now made her feel so ill at ease that she was always on the verge of throwing up or shitting herself, depending on the time of day. Although, Arya loathed herself for admitting that she hadn't exactly _disliked_ what had happened between them and she was more than curious to find out the Hound's strange motives behind it. What had he been thinking? What did he think of her, and gods, what did he even want from her? To Arya it was more than uncomfortable that their encounter had just dissolved into nothing as quickly as it had become so oddly...real? Bloody confusing, to say the least. She didn't know what to make of it.

Once the pair made it to their new camp and the work of building a fire and snare setting had been done, in silence of course, Arya excused herself and hopped off to where the trees surrounding the lake opened up to the rest of the flat land and she could see the top of the hill from which they'd descended. Practicing her dance would help clear her head, and besides, she needed to stretch out her sore legs. She began to twirl her needle in her hand to re-acquaint herself with the slight weight and movement of the blade. Even a few days without practicing was enough to make her forget. Before long, she had it again, the control she needed over her sword. Now she could start to dance. Arya's footwork had gotten much much better over years of practice, however informal it was. It felt so freeing for her body to respond in exactly the way that she wanted, to go where she wanted it to and to do what she wanted it to do. A foot forward, teeter back and spin, being mindful of where needle was at all times. Her hands were quick and nimble. Needle spun effortlessly between them as she guided him while she danced. She had improved significantly since Syrio had first taught her the movements back in their first months at King's Landing and now she could improvise with ease. She tried to imagine someone else there with her, maybe entertaining her with a dance of his own; the two of them in a sort of friendly duel, twisting around each other, never taking their eye's off the other's weapon. This helped her to focus. She tried to visualize how he would move, her imaginary sparring partner. There he was in front of her, his sword at the ready. Arya slipped around to his left and threw a swift jab at his side, which he readily met with his blade. He was quick for a fabrication of her head. She turned sharply and went to slash him down low. Perhaps she was aiming for his leg. Again, an effective block.

"Clever bugger." She muttered to herself. Maybe she should give her friend a face. Without warning, a clear image of the late boy king, Joffery, entered her mind. Not friend, but foe. His smug, opportunistic face smirking at her as she danced around him. He wouldn't be much use with a sword in his hand, but Arya figured there was no harm in imagining herself cutting him down like she would have wished to in reality.

"Joffery," She said as she cart wheeled around him, landing on light feet, ready to spin and cut at the air. She hit her target square on. Slashed his pale neck and watched him bleed. She smiled.

"Cersei,"

There she was in all her cruel glory, arrogance and pride radiating from her like the stench of rot. Arya cut her down.

"Meryn Trant,"

Grey skinned and ugly as a wrinkled sow. Arya drove her needle through his chest.

"Illyn Payne,"

Sword plunged into his gut.

"The Mountain,"

Through the back of the throat.

"The Hound,"

Arya stopped. She looked around and over her shoulder at their small camp not too far off in the distance. He would be there no doubt, keeping a keen eye on the rabbits he was cooking atop the fire. She wondered how she would kill him when she got the chance. Regaining her grip on needle, she focused her attention back to the imaginary Hound in front of her. There he stood, just as big, just as nasty, with a cuss or two on his tongue. She stepped swiftly to the side, keeping her eyes locked on him, and stepped again before hitting the ground with a perfect somersault.

"The Hound," She repeated, with a quick jab to the back, but he was just as quick to block.

_Damnit_

_"Why don't you lay down for me girl?"_

His words, or rather, her own words dropped into her head like a slap in the face and she faltered in her step and fell back on her ass.

_"That's it. You know what you want...what you want me to do to you."_

Suddenly vision of him unclothed, flashed in front of her eyes, muscular and taught like she'd seen him in the lake only nights ago. She couldn't help a blush. She peered around again nervously, just to check if the real him was anywhere in sight. He wasn't. Good. Arya felt her skin grow hot as she envisioned him there with her, embarrassed to admit to herself her own twisted thoughts. His strong arms could be wrapped around her. Yes, that was nice. Arya's mind went back to the night they had spent at the inn, where he had taken that whore. In her own bed, she had heard their bumping and grunting not too far off beside her and felt the floor shake with each one of his careless thrusts. Arya knew enough to know that she was a bad fuck. He hadn't enjoyed himself with her. But just the idea of the two of them grinding into each other in his bed was enough to tighten the growing knot in the pit of her stomach. Maybe he could enjoy her more. That was a wicked picture of a reluctant fantasy. She imagined the Hound pressing into her back, holding her up against that tree and she bit her lip, feeling a wetness inside her beginning to leak out. If it had felt that good with his hands...

_No no no no no! Stop it, you hate him! He killed Mycah, remember! What in seven hells are you thinking?_

"Girl!"

Arya whirled around in surprise at the sound of the Hound's gruff voice and met his eyes. She was embarrassed and raised a hand to touch her cheek. It was blazing hot. He was standing a short distance away from her, waiting expectantly with his hands on his hips. He seemed to notice her discomfort and raised his eyebrows. Arya gulped and struggled to regain her composure, gathering herself together and pushing up onto her feet. She could think of nothing smart to say to him and so, said the first thing that came into her head instead.

"Fight me."

"What?"

"I said, fight me."

The Hound furrowed his brow and crossed his arms over his chest. A small chuckle escaped his lips.

"Well, I was going to tell you that food's ready, but if you really want me to fight you, I'm sure I can spare a minute or two."

"Shut up and fight me." She said, picking 'needle' up off the ground. The words had already left her mouth. She couldn't back out on them now, even if she wanted to. The Hound laughed and took a step forward.

"Okay wolf girl, show me what you can do with your toothpick."

Arya scowled at him in reply. She stepped carefully and began to circle around him, keeping her sword and eyes fixed on his hulking frame. Again, that familiar knot started to tighten deep in her belly as she drank in his smugness and idiocy. The stupid fucker wouldn't get the better of her.

"Go on then, make your move." He egged her on, grinning nastily, his posture so insultingly relaxed it almost made Arya doubt herself. She wasn't going to fall for any of his tricks this time though. In a split second she lunged forward, fooling him into thinking she would strike, before retreating back again to circle around him.

"Clever." He noted.

With a slip of the foot, she somersaulted again-attempting the same move she'd done earlier with the imaginary version of her opponent-and went for his leg. She'd just missed when she felt a hand grab onto the back of her collar, and then she was being yanked up to her feet.

"Silly girl."

The air left her chest at the impact of her back hitting the hard ground and she gasped. He'd tripped her.

"Get up." He held his hand out for her to take after she had recovered and she took it reluctantly, swearing under her breath.

"Don't be such a sore loser, wolf girl. D'you really think you'd get the better of me?" He asked, chuckling, as he patted her harshly on the back, brushing off some of the loose dirt. Arya made a face and turned to him.

"I'm not a sore loser." She replied. "You teach me how to fight."

The Hound paused, taking his hand away from her back as if recoiling from a snake.

"Was that a question?"

"Can you?"

"To fight like me?"

"Yes."

For a brief moment he seemed pensive, as if he were seriously considering her request, before the mirth came back to his eyes and he snorted loudly. Then he turned away from her and started in the direction of the camp.

"Come on girl, food's ready. Tomorrow maybe."

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"I'm going to the lake." Arya stated plainly. The Hound eyed her from across the fire and nodded. She grabbed her little bag that was sitting on the ground and headed towards the beach. She wasn't full. One thin rabbit didn't really do much to sate her hunger, but it was just enough to quiet her growling tummy and put her in a better mood for it. A quick dip in the lake would freshen her up as well and she'd even get a chance to wash her clothes.

There were no clouds in the sky, though it was still fairly warm considering and the glowing moon shone down on the still waters, gently illuminating the scene before her. The absence of wind made it easy for Arya to bring herself to shed her clothes, and once she had, she didn't hesitate to jump straight into the chilly lake, dragging her filthy shirt and trousers along with her. Once in the water, Arya turned around to face their camp, where the Hound was sitting patiently by the fireside. She remembered how she'd snuck up on him whilst he'd been bathing not too long ago and made a mention of keeping her eyes on him at all times so she would know if he was planning on doing the same. Chances were slim, but she still wasn't taking any, that was for certain. Her skin was prickling from the cold, the hairs on her arms standing up on end. Now that she was actually in the water it didn't seem so warm anymore. She started scrubbing out the grime from her soaking wet clothes, rubbing them together and swishing them around in the water so they could get clean, or as clean as was possible in any case. She'd been sitting in their filth for long enough to know that most of it was stuck deep in the fabric and probably wouldn't come out with a casual washing, but a casual washing would have to do for now.

After Arya had taken all she could from the lake and could no longer handle the chill, she dunked her head under the water and ran her fingers through her short brown hair to rinse out any of the dirt and then poked up to the surface, spitting an arc of water into the air. She splashed out onto the shore, keeping a wary eye on the Hound, who was still sitting quietly at the fire, paying her no mind. Out of her little sac, Arya pulled out the little dress given to her by the stableman, and slipped it over her head with a slight shiver.

"Back already?" Said the Hound when Arya returned to the fire.

"The lake's cold."

"Most lakes are."

"Maybe you should go in. You look like you need it." She sat herself down on the ground, tenuously eyeing him over. He noticed her gaze and cocked an eyebrow.

"Didn't know you still had that dress."

A hot blush crept up to her cheeks at his words. They weren't particularly obscene, but they were suggestive enough to cause her to fold her arms over her unbound chest to shield it from his sight.

"Don't look at me." She said with a frown. The Hound snorted and poked at the fire with a long stick.

"Easy, wolf bitch. I meant nothing by it." He scoffed.

A moment of silence passed between them. A night bird called off somewhere in the distance. Arya gulped. She glanced at his face, downcast to the flames, and felt a strong urge to say something to him. She didn't though because she didn't really know what to say.

 

  
**Hey guys! I hope you liked this chapter even if it was a bit boring. I think we needed a bit of Arya contemplation to even-out the Sandor. Big plans for these two, so I figure I'd better set everything up properly. As always, thanks for reading! Also, I've decided to follow Sansa's plot as well and alter its trajectory a little. I'm going to try my hand at writing Ramsay because I think it would be fun. Anyhow, stay tuned for another update soon!**   
**-OW**

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find this story on fanfiction.net.


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